2010/06/19 S

On the third day, my association with Yingjima came to an abrupt cessation.
Till now, I hadn’t imagined that the abused minority peoples of China would have been as thoroughly brainwashed as their overlords.  Yingjima showed me my mistake.  I had nearly managed to convince myself to accept her unusual facial features when our talk again progressed to politics.  After some effort of reminding her of which race she actually belonged to (and which country more naturally represented her), I was very surprised when she typed a frown and then cut my Messenger contact…
Well, so much for ever travelling to South Mongolia.
In contrast there is nice Myeong-seon, who has become my “study buddy”.  I met her on Friday.  Beside trading language, we spent most of the afternoon and evening talking and hanging out around campus.
Spring term is over; summer term is starting immediately.

[This lame web-site recently ruined the comment function with a character limit…  I just added the following in 13 comments, but I’ll edit them in here instead.  It’s 12:20 a.m., Sunday.]

Some days ago, I found Allison Shields on-line. As I remember, she was one of the three or four smart kids in Ms. McDowell’s first grade class at Upland Terrace Elementary School; the others were me, Laura(?) Chamberlain, and a kid named Jesse (several of the others turned out smart too, though).
I must have seen Allison since then. I think I visited her house with the ninth-warders once, and her little sister married a cousin of mine.  But the next time I remember seeing her was at some 18th-ward thing, singing alongside Joe Marshall. She was very talented…
Wow, this new character limit is annoying. Anyway… I found on her page that she had been singing and dancing for a living at Disneyworld or something. I was already not a proponent of dancing, and one of her pictures offended me… but her English on her page had been sound, and she had a happy, nice sort of look… so I left a brief greeting on her
Today I just came back to Salt Lake. It was quite a depressing trip, in fact — but it usually is. Every time I ride public transportation here, Salt Lake City seems a few tiny steps closer to moral anarchy.  Anyway, back at home, I checked the caller identification on our home
phone, and… there was “Allison Shields”.
I assumed it was the same person, and further guessed that maybe she had telephoned in response to my on-line comment. Now that I type it, it looks unlikely. Maybe it was just some cosmic accident; maybe it was a wrong number, or maybe she has some new call-people-up assignment at church. Maybe she knows my sister somehow. I really have no idea why
she would have called…
…Still, I felt special for a few seconds. There was that sort of hopeful spark that comes when you hear your name and realize you just won a prize.

…Even if that ideal scenario were true, though… and she was somehow expressing a curiosity toward me… she would be happier with someone who could give her the kind of life she seems to want…
Me? I’m on my way out of this place… this city, and this country, and this world.

After escorting Myeong-seon home last night, I made my solitary way back to Southridge… and I felt a strange emptiness, as if I had left an important thing undone in my life… I first wondered if it were “settling down and having kids”, but even when I dwelt on that idea, the feeling was just as present.
…Anyway, I feel like civilization is falling to pieces around me. The whole world is slowly, gradually, unstoppably being converted to belief in a terrible lie… What lie? The lie that “error is truth”. The lie has a million faces; but its most familiar venues are the news and
media; and its most recognizable sounds are the voices of politicians and celebrities and scientists and authors and representatives of interest groups, and so on — the “popular” voices.
…And I can do nothing about it. We languish here in the belly of Babylon, which has swallowed us, and we begin to digest, and our nutrients be sucked out… Only by escaping this monster, this modern culture, can we have any hope of retaining our human sanity. We need
God to lead us, like he has before… or we are all doomed.
But, me? All I seem to care about is running to the Asian hills like a monk and watching the end of all good things from my cave.

Not until I walked past a collection of rose bushes on my way up from the train stop (while waiting the half-hour till the next bus) did I remember… that even in this decrepit city, whose occupants, both man and building, are becoming blackened out with graffiti… even here,
there is still beauty to be chanced upon, that is the more beautiful for its rarity.
(I guess I should add that her call was on the 14th, five days ago. It had already expired.)

Anyway, I become more and more grateful for the strange, false religions that nevertheless are true, in that they blind and deafen their adherents from the persuasions of the global lie.
…I even thought again that the cruel clutches of China on the races she has enslaved are perhaps less cruel than what is awaiting a “modernized”, Americanized, decivilized East Asia. Even the grisly human sacrifice of Tibet and her fellow virgins on the altar of idolized
tyranny is perhaps less horrific than the slaughter — no, the coerced suicide — of the billions inside those ridiculously drawn borders.
…But, it’s only a delay. Their time will come… as it has come for many in this desertifying Salt Lake Valley — a blossomed rose that now begins to wilt.


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