So my dissertation is over, and I never let it get in my way of having a good time, so I am happier than those who went through considerable self-denial towards this pursuit. And of course, the fact that I am happy with what I wrote, as opposed to many of the self-denied mentioned above, I guess I should have another reason to celebrate. "Sex on TV", pretty catchy title, eh?
The drudgery is about to begin. 8 hours at work, 2 more spent travelling to and fro. Wow. Isn't that just what we all need? Bring home the dough so we can eat some bread. But seriously, I can't be bothered to complain. I was getting a little tired of college, to be honest. I mean, I love being on campus... a lot more vibrancy compared to most offices. But all the same, too many naive goody-two-shoes ignoramuses walking around who are completely oblivious to how the real world works. Someone needs to seriously put them in a fucking sweat shop or something, so that life can bitch-slap them at least a little bit. So much idealistic banter in one year, it was quite a serious assault on my pragmatic self. Don't get me wrong, I love, LOVE bullshitting. But serious ideal crap, no fucking way. Anyway, all good things come to an end, and hopefully, so will working.
Now I shall make leave, and return soon.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Friday, September 07, 2007
Apologies for the absence
Sorry folks, I had been traveling and had little access to the Internet, and much less the luxury of time to write a post. Traveling is done now, but I have a house to shift and other associated logistics to take care of. Am also trying to get a job, since we all got to eat, right? And no one is paying for my lunches. Also, my dissertation is nowhere near completion. So I am forced to take another short sabbatical before I post a proper one again. As Arnie once said, and was copied by many, "I'll be back". With a bang, or a whimper, remains to be seen.
But before I vamoose, there is one thing I would like to say. Someone needs to hand me a flamethrower so I can go and burn the balls of the self-righteous mother-fuckers who like to preach to anyone who cares to listen (and there seem to many of those) about the wonders and benefits of asceticism and the 'simple life'. Has anyone ever seen the bank accounts of those unholy bastards? Makes me almost want to become one of them, for the sheer money involved. And no, I don't mind being called an unholy bastard myself. Au contraire, I would prefer the title of 'Bastard King'. Which reminds me of something I wrote a few years ago. Since these are just fragments from it, I won't give it a name... enjoy if you will.
Some people are born bastards, others have it thrust upon themselves. A more significant third variety, knowingly or otherwise, work towards being the biggest baddest bastards ever, and manage it very well. I am their king. After immeasurably saddening the one closest to me, and oh! in what a way, there was no obstacle between me and the crown. My handiwork, the house of horrors still stands, and will stand for an eternity, which ends with the end of its lone occupant. Well, credit must also be given to the fine gentleman who laid down the unbearably strong foundation for the house. Without it, all my masonry skills would have been futile. Not that I was very good at it anyway, which is why I didn't do much except chronicling. Pieces from the past flew out into the wind which had turned the pages, and with a dexterity that otherwise only exists in imaginations, assembled themselves into the house. She just happened to be on the plot at the time this was happening, but that was only because thats where she had been living for quite a while now. Thats where I had found her, before I fell in love with her. The walls rose up surrounding her, and the ceiling just fell in place, shutting her in, while I was away visiting lesser kings. Of course, when I found out, I summoned all the masons in me and went to work. But masons isn't exactly what one would expect to find inside the king of the bastards of the third variety. There went all my efforts to break the house down. I just wasn't up to it. And I think no one ever will be.
The person who had met her on the plot died a few months ago. Or did he never exist? He tries to exist now, but is not allowed to. One day, I met this person who is still trying to exist. He tries by sometimes invading precious memory space, too crowded with images of horror, real or as is sometimes the case, imaginary. No wonder he tries with little success. The fate of the person who never existed is not known. Anyway, so this person who is trying very hard even at this moment to exist once took a break from it, and tried to seek an audience with me just when I was letting out a flow of the warm yellow. And he asked me why exactly the hell was I not doing anything. I told him I was pissing. He told me to cut the crap. So I told him that I was trying. There is only so much a man can do. Specially if his hands are tied.
Not that my hands are tied right now. But they will be when they decide to throw my body in the river after putting it in the sack that they bought last night. They will come for me soon. The curse demands they do. The house is my curse. It imprisons my soul. It gives me the crown. The crown has a great demand. They will come for it.
But before I vamoose, there is one thing I would like to say. Someone needs to hand me a flamethrower so I can go and burn the balls of the self-righteous mother-fuckers who like to preach to anyone who cares to listen (and there seem to many of those) about the wonders and benefits of asceticism and the 'simple life'. Has anyone ever seen the bank accounts of those unholy bastards? Makes me almost want to become one of them, for the sheer money involved. And no, I don't mind being called an unholy bastard myself. Au contraire, I would prefer the title of 'Bastard King'. Which reminds me of something I wrote a few years ago. Since these are just fragments from it, I won't give it a name... enjoy if you will.
Some people are born bastards, others have it thrust upon themselves. A more significant third variety, knowingly or otherwise, work towards being the biggest baddest bastards ever, and manage it very well. I am their king. After immeasurably saddening the one closest to me, and oh! in what a way, there was no obstacle between me and the crown. My handiwork, the house of horrors still stands, and will stand for an eternity, which ends with the end of its lone occupant. Well, credit must also be given to the fine gentleman who laid down the unbearably strong foundation for the house. Without it, all my masonry skills would have been futile. Not that I was very good at it anyway, which is why I didn't do much except chronicling. Pieces from the past flew out into the wind which had turned the pages, and with a dexterity that otherwise only exists in imaginations, assembled themselves into the house. She just happened to be on the plot at the time this was happening, but that was only because thats where she had been living for quite a while now. Thats where I had found her, before I fell in love with her. The walls rose up surrounding her, and the ceiling just fell in place, shutting her in, while I was away visiting lesser kings. Of course, when I found out, I summoned all the masons in me and went to work. But masons isn't exactly what one would expect to find inside the king of the bastards of the third variety. There went all my efforts to break the house down. I just wasn't up to it. And I think no one ever will be.
The person who had met her on the plot died a few months ago. Or did he never exist? He tries to exist now, but is not allowed to. One day, I met this person who is still trying to exist. He tries by sometimes invading precious memory space, too crowded with images of horror, real or as is sometimes the case, imaginary. No wonder he tries with little success. The fate of the person who never existed is not known. Anyway, so this person who is trying very hard even at this moment to exist once took a break from it, and tried to seek an audience with me just when I was letting out a flow of the warm yellow. And he asked me why exactly the hell was I not doing anything. I told him I was pissing. He told me to cut the crap. So I told him that I was trying. There is only so much a man can do. Specially if his hands are tied.
Not that my hands are tied right now. But they will be when they decide to throw my body in the river after putting it in the sack that they bought last night. They will come for me soon. The curse demands they do. The house is my curse. It imprisons my soul. It gives me the crown. The crown has a great demand. They will come for it.
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