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thus spoke the quotidian mutant
“Do you know who I am?” he asks me.
Nope!
“Even though I have the crest?”
He shows me his coats of arms, and begins to tell me a story about genetics, magic, human capability and attraction… Blond hair was a mutation, he told me. It only spread because it was attractive. And all blue-eyed people sprung from the same ancestor, he explained. It spread much the same way, for the same reason. He was naturally both, but currently neither, because of dye. He didn’t want the ladies that badly.
His grandfather, he told me, was the world’s first mage through mutation. Naturally, that’s something he wanted to pass on, so naturally, the man had a harem. So he, the bottle brunet I was speaking to, naturally had a hundred plus cousins. Supernaturally.
Souvenir
Baghdad is such a letdown. I’m in the airport now, just got there. Before, I thought that it’d be somehow exotic; foreign, strange and different, but it look basically the same as his home in California. Shiny buildings, plop art, a cookie-cutter city centers, and tributaries of the same monorail that run through the world. Maybe it’s a bit newer, though.
I guess this is what happens with globalization: same laws, same CU, same Global Internet. Who cares about history and location when you have the Internet. With the Internet you can go anywhere as though it were next door. So I suppose it’s just as well that it looks like next-door.
But I prefer physical, literal travel.
I’m walking home from school, through the park, just off the bus. There’s a guy building something not entirely unlike this right out in the open. It’s got a stage and a carnival show feel.
I think I’ll watch. I’ll be the first spectator. I hope I get called onstage.
