2006-06-01 - 1:03 a.m.
I was mowing the lawn today, and I heard a "thwack" noise, and something flew out from under the mower against the side of the house. I looked down to see something slimy, I couldn't figure it out at first. Was it a snake? a mouse? Then I saw it. It was a frog, or half of a frog, I could see the pale belly, most of a wide little mouth, and one wet green leg with a webbed foot. Its intestines were spilling out like a pile of black worms and his heart was still beating inside the twisted wreck of his innards and viscera, making the whole pile of guts pulse, wet and shining. There wasn't any blood I could see.
I didn't cry, I just got this sad ugly feeling. I didn't do it on purpose or with any malice. I didn't kill it so I could eat it, or in self defense. I was just there, just too big. I can't think of a lesson to derive from this, or a metaphor, or any kind of meaning. Just that ugly feeling of being unchangably human, forever separated from the world by tools and clothes and houses. Fat lot of good these big brains do us.
What does it feel like to be instantly split in two?
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