Aside from kuru, what's so bad about cannibalism?

Hello once again readers, it's been quite a while since I've last posted any cannonfodder in the Plague. As usual, there hasn't been a dull moment, from chocolate chip cookies to events leading to the removal of all uncertainty in the Boxers or Briefs? Game. A brief update for those of you who may have been relying on my luncheonette for announcements and villification of new vexations and irritations, conveniently placed in neat little bulletpoints (The Bubonic Plague Luncheonette, always striving to meet your individual needs):
- In the recent weeks past, I have taken up firespinning, having spun fire for my first time about two weeks ago, and earning a delicious little burn on my back just beneath my shoulder (which Steve seems to think that I am inordinately proud of, and probably with good reason, considering it's one of those types of peripheral injuries that's strange enough that it elicits the questions and concerns of pretty young men, some who seem to jump at the opportunity to "help me take a look at it"). While there was a photographer at the Waltham firespinning practice, I'm not altogether sure whether pictures of my first burn exist to post, or I'd do so at the moment. Currently, I'm terrible, and my repertoire consists of about 3 tricks, which is why I've been cleverly relying on the inherent "cool factor" of flames to cover up my general ineptitude. Heh, I suppose that even throughout life, that's just the way it's always been. However, I hope to remedy that soon now that my fuzzy poi has finally arrived.
- Although I'd sworn to many of you that I'd have nothing ever again to do with the younger generation of incoming students, it seems that once again, like Don Corleone, "just when I think I'm out, they keep pulling me back in." I've been consorting with a particularly sordid bunch of incoming freshmen as of late, instead of sticking to my planned regimen of hermitdom and general recluse in order to focus on my schoolwork, and most importantly, gradumulation (see, I can spell guud). Has this been detrimental to my schoolwork? Probably a little. But moreover, has it been detrimental to me emotionally? Actually, to tell you the truth, this bunch of young 'uns seems to have brought back an emotional fortitude and, well, reason to really just *be alive* (using the definitions stated in Steph Tyll's journal and previous entries of the Plague) that I haven't felt in... nearly 2 or so years? It's been... something amazing. And although in writing this, I can't help but feel a little old and decrepit, it doesn't seem to detract from the exhilirating feeling that real, individual neat people are not yet lost on this world. While controversial to state (controversial? Plague? Never...), I'll nevertheless assert that we've had a couple of dud incoming classes ever since the death of Rush (with, of course, exceptions, over which everyone can argue as to "who makes the cut" and "who just sucks"), and it seemed to have taken its toll on a good number of people, each in their own way - some, like yours truly, eventually turned to being drunk and ornery, and others still, eventually had their free will stripped off of them. Without the motivation to keep fighting the good fight to nurture real, defined personalities, this eventuality was to be expected. But aside from that familiar tune, which I'm sure all you Plague-ies have heard before, I'd like to state for the record, that the past two or so weeks have really... made me feel like I'm welcome again, and have a little bit of a buffer when being subjected to socially awkward and uncomfortable places - like the back of a Volkswagon. While I used to dread more and more the act of "hanging out" in a formerly hospitable social area for fear of running into situations that would push the leashes on my verbal hounds to the breaking point (and not in the good way), thus making the entire scenario much safer to avoid, this time around it feels as though the quality of the time I spend there makes it worth the occasional social exits that I sometimes must make. All in all, it feels as though, for the first time in a long while, I'm not quite the village leper - or at least, this time I'm an entertaining village leper - and frankly, I'm loving it.
Now what is it, you may ask, that has made me feel quite so alive again? Looking back at recently past events, it's got to have been a conglomeration of the following, with promises of more to come soon:
- My good friend and Deputy of Dung, John Ranson and I ran a Chocolate Chip Cookies and Gin 'n' Tonic study break, which resulted in the escalation of bluffs taken a little too far. I'd originally made a passing comment on the way to the liquor store about "leaving a trail of cookies out for the freshmen, leading past the gin and tonic, and finally placing the last two on my nipples, thus when the freshmen would walk up to them, they'd whimper 'oh noooo... the last ones are on your nipples, what do I do???'" Now this plan would have sufficed and I would've had the upper hand, had not one particularly scheming freshman declared "I know what I'd do!" and made the motions of lifting an imaginary cookie off of my chest and eating it. Of course, naturally, I couldn't let a freshman one-up me like that, and as such, requested that John make some large cookie pasties for me to call his bluff. And so it was done. But more importantly, it was done, only to have aforementioned freshman literally dive down into a faceplant and eat them off of my nipples without using his hands (because some smartass convinced him that would be an even better idea). Well, suffice to say, we couldn't let that one live well enough alone.
- This of course lead to the saran wrap incident, which was carefully planned out by another freshman and myself. In said incident, we condemed cookie-boy in his room after determining that he'd fallen asleep. After tightly sealing the door in saran wrap, we carefully applied a Biohazard motif to the place, affixing an official biohazard sticker to the wall and labeling each air freshener in the surrounding hallway as a "medical device designed to remove odor" and relabeling the fire alarm boxes similarly.
- After this bonding experience between the two freshmen and myself, along with some other sordid practical jokes between the three of us, it seems that we have all somehow banded together to form the triumvurate of evil. Consequently, as the three of us were working in the back hallway on the second floor of the dorm last night, we somehow agreed to the idea that working with our pants off would be far more comfortable, and thus executed this plan accordingly. Little did we realize, that we were tampering with the forces of nature, for in doing so, we created an anti-pant field, which had the distinct properties of repelling people at its perimeter and causing people moving through the field to drop trou.
Of course, all this and more occurred after having known these folks for a mere 3 weeks, leaving me with a distinct feeling that this year holds promise.
In other news, it seems that I have finally begun the process of battling my demons, which seems to generally be good news all around, and most especially for those who tend to run my emotional sanitation department and janitorial services. Last week, while chock-full of stories and incidents that will keep me from ever running for public office, was also one of the most emotionally trying weeks I've had in a long while. But then again, I suppose I had it coming, and I was glad to go it alone. Apologies for those of you who may have wanted to be there to give me advice through it, but know that you were all in some way responsible for helping me to come to face the things that I needed to. I'm still long far from slaying the beast that drives me to hide behind the bottle, but at least now, I've taken out the sword - and I've shown myself what it really means to be scared. The strangest thing, I think, that I discovered about myself, was that the true fear was not at all what I'd thought it was - when it came down to it, it *wasn't* the fear of ever getting hurt again, it really was the fear of losing two of the things I loved most about life. And so, where I had originally intended to strike out once and for all, to stop them from hurting me, each in their own separate ways, I found myself holding my tongue, and holding back the anger, the loathing, and the hate. It's so funny how, no matter how wronged you feel, confrontation will lead to compromise - that is, if you really do care. In a way, it was the litmus test - no speculation, the real thing, the forced decision to keep it in your life and find a way or to lose it completely. But from my two separate confrontations, I learned two different and opposing lessons, and in that sense it confuses me all the more: in one confrontation, I learned not to back down, to honestly demand respect and credit where both were due; in the other, I learned that to really love someone, no matter how angry you are at them and what they've done, you will never rid them from your heart, and it's pretty futile to attempt an amputation. Steve, I think you were really onto something when you told me that "you never fall out of love with someone;" in the wee hours of the morning, as I found myself stripped of all defenses and strangely, horribly sober, I came to the realization that despite my most zealous of efforts, I could not, just could not, and would not look at the man who has brought me so much joy and pain mixed into one, and tell him that I hate him and did not want him in my life ever again. What had seemed so easy, what everyone convinced me was a good idea, was simply impossible - for all the rage, much of which I'm sure you dear readers have found in the Plague, I cannot simply run and hide in the layers of fooling myself that I'm done with everything that I've ever had to do with him because I'm so angry and tired of feeling hurt. Because, well, I'm a sucker for pain, and I'm even more a sucker for ideology - for all the fighting we will ever do, emotionally, socially, physically, the most important thing to me is that we... connect. And if you're reading this entry, like you claim you do with all the other Plague stuff - I do mean it when I say "I will always be here for you. Here. Right here in my space. But here for you. Even if you never need it."
Jerrod's always told me to pick my battles, and I think he's also on to something - even if you can't care for a person in the way you want to, it doesn't mean you have to make yourself stop caring completely, you just need to figure out where your limits of tolerance are. In a way, it's a lot like drinking, and BDSM, now that I think about it. Go me - I've made a few breakthroughs in the past week.
In a more gothly vein, Nomeda recently dropped me a poem which I found to be particularly beautiful, and which may be a candidate for my next wall painting. I include it here for your enjoyments and comments:

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter - bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

-Steven Crane

While we are on the topic of gothliness, I invite some of you to take a look at the Mass Morgue Event happening on Halloween. I will be there for a few hours as an Assistant to a Vendor of Dark Art (tm) and also in my Halloween costume (which, if all goes as planned, is predicted to be interesting).
And with that, I will wrap up this long-awaited Plague update - apologies of you who were clamoring for another Captain Dipshit-like flame, there will be more to come, rest assured. At this point in time, I must attend to the tribble that Max gifted me with upon his departure, for it is making squishy liquid diarrheal noises which indicates to me that there is a reason beyond "manufacuturer's intent" as to why it is brown. In the meantime, I pose one final question to my readers, which came inspired from a recent paper I wrote: "Aside from kuru, what's bad about cannibalism?"

Further bulletins as events warrant.