A monument with a phallus. Oh, Hermes! Procreation is not always a beautiful thing. Sometimes we produce Hitlers and Hitters. Haters and fakers. But let us create something beautiful. Who truly determines beauty. Can a blindman? The beholder looked too hard for Helios! I'm not so sure why I'm so interested in the topic of creation suddenly. No reason, other than the idea behind a short story I'm brainstorming for at this moment. It will be a story many can read, but not understand. Possibly similar to some of my unclear writings on this very diary. It will have a lot of symbolism, and maybe the reader can spot some twists that are not clearly stated. Until then, I wrote something last night or the night before last that's very short, and not a story at all. Just a piece with a story. It does have a minor twist, but it has no real depth. The depthless story was written like that intentionally. I wrote it while I was intoxicated with heavy doses of sleepiness, boredom, all rolled up in not putting together thoughts, but letting the viewer put them together themselves. For now and for no reason, I present to you: Death to the Egg THE WORDS OF THE CURIOUS: In an egg was sacrifice. We fed it love and warmth. I occasionally found myself poking at it with curiousity. Maybe the thing inside would come out retarded or something. The mere thought of what was waiting on the inside made me get butterflies. Sometimes I could see my reflection in the egg, and I wondered if the contents looked anything like me. THE ORIGIN OF THE EGG: The egg was the result of lust, anger, depression, and boredom. It was the result of a special kind of love. Nobody was exactly sure how it got there. Not even the ones responsible for it. No one knew if it was human. "Once I dreamed I was pregnant. I remember feeling a lump in my throat as the baby was making its way to light. The lump was the only thing I could feel. When I finally saw the baby, I didn't want to touch it. Something was wrong with it. It was ugly. I wanted the baby to die. So I took the baby and dropped it in scalding hot water. I saw it beneath the water, all pink and fresh. I cracked a smile and a tear rolled down my face. The tear splashed into the water and the baby was gone. I woke up sweating and I couldn't stomach food for a few days after that. "When I was a little girl I threw sand at the little boys because I thought they were cute. One day the janitor threw sand at me. It's always the janitor. I never told anyone. "When I was a teenager I experienced drugs and killing animals. If I could do it over, I'd definitely stick to killing animals. I never liked them. I just wished the janitor would have called once in a while. I never even got to know his name. "Today I got a sore throat and had trouble breathing "I'm hungry "Time to eat." THE DEATH OF THE EGG: The embryo was a greyish blue color. It had yellow eyes and I swear I saw it smiling at me with a little string of tears going down the side it's face. It looked just liked me. I ate and it was delicious. I won't eat for a few days and then I'll die. I just wish I was still a janitor. THE WORDS OF THE EMBRYO: In an egg was sacrifice. We fed it love and warmth. I occasionally found myself poking at it with curiousity. Maybe the thing inside would come out retarded or something. The mere thought of what was waiting on the inside made me get butterflies. Sometimes I could see my reflection in the egg, and I wondered if it looked anything like me. END (C) Josh, bitch. -You Can Never Bring a Good God Down