(My brother just told the whole world how much he hates me. And instead of giving him my 2640-word worth of demons, I release them here.)
In a land where the sun rises not, where the moon never leaves the sky, there lived the ones whom we simply refuse to believe.
Not that they prefer it any other way.
They have ceased to call themselves angels for they could no longer find their way back where they used to call home. Nor were they demons for they have never pledged loyalty to the fallen prince.
For naming’s sake, let’s call them In-Betweens.
In that sunless world there lies an inn, a public house whose bar these folks often frequent. And here small groups would gather every seventh moon to exchange the sort they consider priceless, but what humans no longer hold as objects of value.
This is tradition.
This is fact.
“Another mug of moonbeam, please, Leirum”, muttered a small figure covered in a cloak the same hue as the shadows. He was a lone figure in the bar…yet.
“As you wish dear Leug”, replied the bar maiden, a figure with such beauty even Aphrodite could envy, and she has; still does. She gave the small cloaked figure what we call an innocent smile before she vanished.
The inn does not boast of any exquisite structure but of wooden stools and rounded tables, a large and comforting fireplace that has not yet ceased to give the inn life for as long as anyone could remember; and of course, the bar. Behind it is a place where knowledge lies only on the beautiful Leirum and mortal guests who could no longer give us their own accounts.
“Here’s your freshly harvested cold mug of moonbeam, eh, just the way you like it!”
“Ah, thanks, Leirum.”
“So, what interesting business have you lately got yourself into, Leugarahp? And don’t tell me nothing much again or you’re not coming back to this inn.” And she laughed to let the other one know she doesn’t mean it.
“It really is nothing much, Lei, just a minor role in preventing a planet-wide revolution in Uruk-Patel. Those green people really are a riotous bunch.”
“Wouldn’t you be if you live in a planet as miserable?”
“Touché. They were a noble race but they wouldn’t last long now. Pretty soon, you would have to meet them. At least they’ve been able to make interesting memories to last a lifetime.”
She then busied herself with wiping her ivory mugs for the upcoming guests, a task she was fully obliged. “Tell me, Leug, have you been there when their first planet-wide revolution started?”
“With the Uruks? Played a major role back then, I say. Why, it was a mistake I never intend to do again! You wouldn’t believe thinking beings would be able to be responsible for such gore.”
“Hm, just as I suspected. You do have your smell in it.”
“Oh well. It won’t be long now ‘til those people die. Their second moon has just exploded, their life source greatly diminishing. The two queens, both formidable as you well know, have not yet reached a compromise. The people are getting restless and before we knew it they would start killing each other. You have my word in it. It would be so much gore, they like it that way. But they won’t know what they’ve done until it’s too late. They won’t be able to replace their losses now. The two queens only lay about a thousand eggs every moonrise. Not all of them would even be able to survive. Dying, that’s what they are, I tell you.”
“They wouldn’t be alone, in that case.”
The voice came from the newcomer they haven’t noticed. As he rose from the farthest stool in the shadows, he pulled down his hood to different welcomes from the two figures in the bar.
“I’m glad you made it, Lesaran.”
“You just don’t change do you, giant?”
Lesaran laughed as he joined them in the bar, giving Leugarahp a patting in the back which send the little one scurrying on the floor, “Just as likely to change as you’re likely to grow, midget.”
All three laughed. Even the fire joined to welcome the cheerful new guest.
“What would you have this time, Les? And no, I still don’t have any whiskey. I simply refuse to befoul my bar with a drink as inferior as that.”
“Pfft, you and your standards. Just give me whatever this midget’s having then. Make it a full bottle this time.”
“Lovely. Now don’t you go telling any tales ‘til I come back, you.”
Lesaran just smirked and turned to Leugarahp who, from his fall, was still shifting uncomfortably in his seat, but not with any contempt to the pusher, as was their way.
“Is it true Uruk-Patel’s dying?”
“True as we are, brother.”
“You really think I know?”
They sat in silence as Leirum came back with a bottle of newly harvested moonbeam and a plate of what looked like peanuts but were really dried Human Wishes, a favorite delicacy of Lesaran.
“Here’s your drink and some munchers for you both. Where have you been for so long, Les? I’ve missed you. Everyone missed you.”
“Been to a couple of worlds, but mostly to my favorite spot. You know the place, you two.”
“You mean they’re the dying breed?” asked Leugarahp.
“Everyone always seems to be dying, but only some really do. Sometimes I wish I could.”
Leirum broke it by asking, “So where have you been then except Earth?”
Lesaran was about to answer, but just then the doors opened. Two people entered – one a young man in his early twenties, the other a middle-aged woman in a smart-looking business suit, both looking terribly confused why they end up in such a place.
“Hello! This is the Angels’ Inn. Do you wish a room for the night?” came the sweet and inviting voice of Leirum, with a spark in her eyes different from which before the new guests arrive.
“Is this what you call this place? Rather gloomy to be an inn for angels, but it will do. Yes, I’d just like a room for the night, please.” answered the middle-aged woman as she crossed towards the bar, and sat beside Lesaran.
“You dress awfully old-fashioned in here, don’t you? Do we have a party or something? Lord knows I’m up for a party. It’s been dry, work-filled days all week! Even God needed a breather, didn’t he?”
“Oh yes, he did”, answered a smirking, bemused Lesaran.
The young man just remained standing in the center of the room and muttered in a small voice, “Um, I’d like a room, too, if you please.” He sat in one of the stools surrounding a nearby table.
Leirum answered, “Very well, then, two rooms for the new guests. I should go and prepare your rooms, but not before you two warm up and have your drinks. Now I suggest Hope’s Dregs for this awfully cold night, what do you say?”
“I normally don’t drink anything with dregs in them. Is that any good?” the woman asked Lesaran.
“Very – it warms you up from within and leaves you a quite contented feeling. You should try it.” he said with the most charming of smiles to the woman beside him, who blushed before she said to the bar maiden, “Fine. One Hope’s Dregs for me then.”
“Lovely. How about you, young man?”
The young man appears to be slightly surprised to be addressed and just nodded.
“All right, two dregs of hope coming up. Oh I could feel this would be one of them good nights…”
The woman turned to Lesaran and Leugarahp, who still had his cloak half-covering his face.
“What are you folks drinking?”
“Just the old-fashioned moonbeam, same as here Leug’s having.” said Lesaran.
“Moonbeam? Weird names, these drinks. But what do you expect from a bar named Angels’ Inn?” then she gave a laugh everyone knows to have no real trace of mirth.
“All kinds of things, madam, all kinds of things,” replied Leugarahp, who chose that moment to pull down his hood.
The woman wasn’t able to utter a reply, and the man in one of the tables made a small gasp as they looked at what the hood has hidden until now. It was a face as old as time itself, and in it you could never really see true traces of beauty, especially if you have the human eye.
“Hey, what’s the silence about? I thought my bar was known to be the source of all tales? But then again I guess everything just has to change, don’t they?” said Leirum, still with a smile as she served the woman and the young man their drinks.
“Not really, sister. You know that too well.” was the reply from Lesaran.
Leirum looked at his brother for a moment before going back to the counter.
“I think the silence was brought about by the usual reaction from the sight of me. Thank goodness there was no blood shed this time”, said Leugarahp, whose voice echoed a truth to his words.
“Oh, you’re always a welcome sight to me Leug”, said Leirum.
The woman, too uncomfortable and embarrassed with the conversation, said, “So you three know each other well?”
“We’ve known each other a long time now. But you, why, we’ve only seen you now. How did you come to our place? Do tell us”, said Leirum, with a manner that even the most stone-hearted man could not say no to.
“Now, this is most peculiar. I can only remember coming home from work, getting ready to change my clothes to go out to some bar, you know. The next thing I know, I’m out in the cold, standing outside your door with that young man over there”, she lowered her voice before saying, “He really is in bad shape, that lad. He looks as if every little noise frightens him. Thank this awfully delicious drink I’ve found better company.” finishing the statement with another sip from her mug.
“Interesting story. Don’t you think you’re just in a dream?” asked Leugarahp.
“A dream? My life’s been mostly a dream, you see. No real meaning. I won’t be surprised if this is another one.”
“Oy, you fellow! Care to join us here? It’s rather lonely down there in your spot, I say. At least here you can have close view of my sister. Isn’t she a sight?” said Lesaran with a laugh joined by the others except Leirum, who tried to look annoyed without success.
The young man, who thought he really has no choice on the matter, just as he always thought about all things his entire life, stood up and joined the rest on the bar.
“Don’t mind him. He really is a joker, my brother.” said Leirum, as the young man approached with a nervous smile.
“It’s okay. This is some drink, by the way. Never tasted anything as good before.”
Leugarahp, who was sitting beside the young man, nudged him, “You won’t find a better drink anywhere in your world, lad. Even the finest wines you’ve got down there couldn’t compare to the water we have in this inn.”
“Once a humbug, always a humbug”, muttered Lesaran so that only Leirum and the woman could hear.
Leugarahp, who was now in a talkative mood after his second mug of moonbeam, asked the boy, “So what’s your story then?”
“I mean how’d you end up here?”
“Oh…well, I was just in my room, you know, thinking of, of a lot of things. Life. Then I had this really weird thought, see. I never really intended to do it. I can’t remember now if I did. The next thing I know, I’m standing outside your door. She’s right by the way”, he looked to the woman beside Lesaran before saying, “I really was frightened. It’s so weird, you see?”
“Hmm. A lot of weird things happen to us in the course of existence, young man. Remember that. But tell me, would you rather have these weird things currently happening, or your plain, monotonous, uneventful life that you so wished to end back in that lonely room of yours?” said Leugarahp.
“How did you…? It doesn’t matter. You’re right anyway.”
Silence, once again broken by Leirum.
“Now, now, gentlemen. Our guests must really be tired from a long, long day. I think it would be right to send them now to their rooms. Why, I’ve made them as comfortable as only an Angel’s Inn room could be.”
“Really tempting, that one. Oh well, I guess I’m getting old. I do feel tired now you said it. I’m afraid I have to say good night to you, gentlemen.” said the woman in the business suit.
“Good night to you, madam. May you sleep in peace.” replied Lesaran with the smile that made the woman felt certain it would be a good night’s rest indeed.
“How about you, young man?” asked Leirum.
“I think I should also go. I’m sorry, but I do feel really exhausted.” And he really looked as if he is.
Then Leugarahp said to him, “That’s fine, lad. You shall have your rest now. Good night.”
And with that, the beautiful Leirum escorted the two human guests to their bedrooms; rooms from which no other soul have yet seen, rooms from which their bodies will never see another light of day.
When she came back to the bar, her brothers were still there.
“You’ve brought them here, you know.” she said.
“But unknowingly. Unwillingly.”
“That’s how it must work, brother.”
“I think we should call it a night.” It was Lesaran’s voice who broke it this time.
“Yes, I think so, too. I have to get back to Uruk-Patel. They need me now more than always.” said Leugarahp, to no one’s dissent and to Leirum’s full agreement as she looked at her brother with a smile.
Lesaran said, “And I must be getting on. I like Earth, but there are still worlds I have yet to be friends with. I think I should go to one of them.”
“You really should, brother”, said Leirum, also in full agreement with her brother’s choice.
Each of the men kissed her on one cheek before they put on their cloaks and went out to the night.
Then Leirum closed the Inn’s doors, never locking it for she well knows anyone might turn up needing rooms or just a drink at any time here in their land.
She sat in front of the fire for a few minutes, the kind of minutes highly different from man’s world. She contemplates how the Uruks’ fate lies in the mercy of her brother Pharaguel, the Angel of Destruction. And how her brother Narasel’s unquenchable taste for all the things the worlds have to offer would influence more people’s ends, he being the Angel of Desire. She reflects on all of these, among other things such as the ends of all the worlds and the event that would follow, before walking behind the bar, waiting in the shadows to serve another In-Between, or to prepare rooms to dying beings.
For such is her duty, the fallen beauty Muriel, otherwise known to her siblings as the Angel of Death.
What do you see when you close your eyes?
I see nothing.
Yet I see everything.
Open – eyed, I see you look away from me; see you look at no one. Making a point of it, perhaps? And when I close my eyes, I see that I exist.
At least I think I do.
But I need you to look at me. With that you’ll show me that I do, you know, exist.
Will you look at me?
I know you need it, too.
You can look away now. Or you could close your eyes. I rather enjoy the latter, but it’s up to you. Look away and you still exist in this world, close your eyes and you may end up in other worlds.
Escape…you like that, eh?
I know. I know.
Anywhere, whatever situation we may end up in, we would always want to get out of it. All that in due time. It’s a built -in mechanism, I suppose – one we can do without, but can’t.
I wonder now.
In heaven, would we still feel the urge to escape? Was it what Lucifer felt?
She entered the hall and, as always, all eyes were instantly upon her.
Most of those pairs were filled with raw lust, some with pure hatred, while others have what you can call that half-pitying, half-condescending look. And she was aware of all these, yet still did not betray any real emotion and acted as what her father expected of her – proud, graceful, and exceedingly superficial. For a thousand and one years she has done perfectly all that was demanded of her and she was not about to falter now. She laughed, and drank, and charmed all the men, and yes, even the women in the great hall. And as the night was about to end, she stood at once upon the boom of her father’s voice.
Faster than lightning bolts, all the other ladies disappeared, leaving her alone with the men to perform the last ritual.
This was expected, for this has happened every time her family gathers for a celebration. She stood in all her glorious nakedness in the center of the room as her cousins, uncles, nephews, and brothers fed upon her – relishing all that they could of her inexhaustible love essences. They fed ravenously as she made sure to look as one in complete ecstasy until her father voiced out his satisfaction. Then, as had happened with all the revelries for the past thousand years, all the men in the room formed a ring and watched with frenzied anticipation as her father, in all his kingly majesty, approached her to take the final feeding that will satisfy the desire he pleasurably formed all night. Thunder roared and lightning flashed as he ravished on her daughter, and when at last he reached full consummation, resulting in lightning sparks that seemed to turn the night sky to day, he marveled once again at his pure genius for creating her. Then one by one, all in less time to complete a mortal blink, they were all gone.
All except she, the world’s foremost symbol of love, who at that moment would have given everything to be anything but.
She garbed her shame and started towards the deepest dungeons, all the time maintaining the ever composed, proud, and insurmountably beautiful face. She did not once change her pace until she arrived on their chamber doors, opened it, and at last found herself looking at the man, the only man, who aroused in her the purest of love. The worlds of both men and gods looked at his face with repulsion, distrust, and contempt. But she who knows real love and genuine beauty takes one look at him, and only then could she find it possible to reveal her true form. If all beings, from monsters to gods, could not deny that she is Beauty and Love in one when they look at her, would have been blinded with sheer admiration when they see her reveal her truest, purest form in the comforting warmth of the man she loves.
“Hush, hush, love…we’re together now,” consoled the fire god Hephaestus, as his broken wife shed all her life’s pretenses in his arms.
Let me tell you a story.
This story may be about a demon or me or you, but that doesn’t matter really.
He walked the earth but his heart was not there. It was engaged in the place where your thoughts often wander, especially if your heart is not keeping up with what you do.
Yes, like all demons, Michal does have a heart.
Though to say it is a good or pure heart would be to go too far. It still is fact that Demon hearts do not fill with blood but with the agony inflicted upon mortals – the more agony produced, the stronger the heart becomes.
And Michal, our demon, has indeed a very strong heart. But as you already know, now it is not with him but in the nameless-place-where-hearts-often-wander.
There, his heart met The Question.
And now as he prowls the earth looking for willing puppets, them of the agony-inflicting type, The Question continuously takes root in his heart.
“Why do I exist? Am I really meant to be here? To be doing what I’m doing? And if I am, if I am no accident, then who or what intended for it? What…who is my creator? Why?”
The Question – it mutually seeks out all hearts and meet them all in due time. It captures yours in unexpected moments, and from then on, never really leaves.
Appeased, ignored, suppressed, but still there.
And it leaves no body, no being out – Living, Dead, In-betweens, Angels, Demons, Guardians – all of their hearts The Question will meet.
For all of them will take part in the event.
That which everything that was, is, and about to happen are mere necessities, preparation perhaps, all leading to the one reason why anything at all exists.
The Demon already knows this but cannot recall it. Like everyone else, it is vital for his being that The Knowledge should not interfere with the present, hence the overshadowing by present trivialities.
But one always needs to be reminded, thus the constant seeking of the answer to the purpose of one’s existence.
And in that nameless place where all hearts eventually wander, we all find our reminder – consciously or otherwise.
So that’s the story.
It is as much about me as it is about Michal or you or the queen of the damned or the president of the Jews.
Why, I think you know.
(Or why you are not meant to tap your own back)
Hiya No. 1!
I didn’t think you could do it, never expected you to. Why, you tried it only once before and it sucked and I know why you think you shouldn’t do it again. I do, too. But you decided to just do it; decided to just get on and write that stupid short story – that one about some baby from hell type of flippertwit.
Again, idiocy reigned.
And blast me twice, but you’ve really finished what you set out to do this time. Why, you even made an awful series out of that rubbish!
I know this wouldn’t sound much of a success to anyone but you, now don’t give me that face you know it’s the truth! But well, yes, I believe it was really an achievement for you. And I’m proud of what you’ve done. Oh come on, I mean it! I know how you didn’t have enough guts to do it; all for a number of stupid reasons if you ask me.
They’re not stupid? Pfft! Not having an English degree, not being a native speaker, inability to fluently describe what an adverb is or to distinguish who from whom, too lazy to be any good with deadlines – how are these reasons not stupid enough?! And don’t even tell me you believe those bona fide writers really know what’s different from who to whom except the letter M.
Now you believe me? Well, of course I’m proud of you, moron. I know it’s not easy to let the world know how much of an idiot you are. And it really wasn’t so bad, was it? I mean the whole experience. After all, it made you happy. And it’s great fun to stop pretending to be smart and sensible and just let out the idiocy within sometimes.
So there you have it. I just wanted to say, “Well done!” and “Don’t get used to it because I know what you have to do come the third week of this month!”
*Evil laugh time*
Mm, is this the part where I say, “It’s not you, it’s me”? No? Fine, fine.
How about bye, then?
Your amazing-er self,
This gallery contains 1 photo.
There are people you notice, and there are those whom backgrounds just tend to swallow. Perhaps if in one particular background a crime took place in which you happened to bear witness, then asked by the authorities to describe in full detail what you have seen, you would unintentionally left out these people from your …
very amateur RECORDING, that is!
You see, it’s been a real treat to record these nonsensical flippertwits I made up for my stories.
1.Nika’s Song (TotWK: Music Box)
2.Nika’s Mum’s Song (TotWK: Music Box)
3.Devil’s Child Chant (TotWK: Devil’s Child)***
4.Song of a Gypsy Woman (TotWK: ______)
The third one‘s got to be my favorite!
Heed this warning, loves: one has a COCK crowing in the background, one is a SPOILER, and my favorite is a REAL PAIN in the ears. But it fits, seeing as it’s dedicated to one blogger who happened to call me a witch. You know who you are (clue: initials= T.B. and a charming idiot, but at least a real genius in the field – not of being charming, but idiocy). This idiot also likes all things M – like Moose and Miley cyrus – and Me, as well.
I just wanted to ask you if you know how to pronounce this: “Cthulhu“? You don’t? Me too. Now I really have to agree – Neil Gaiman‘s probably got the world’s largest octopus head.
You take care, you.
‘Til then, J
I know it’s a little late for the latter, but then again…
Let me start by sharing to you the works of my, err,
good friend, Landix.
“The Deal” created for the story Tales of the Wind’s Kiss: Devil’s Child
“Le Pedofile“, this time for Tales of the Wind’s Kiss: Music Box
Now tell me you think they’re horrifyingly beautiful.
I know, I know.
It’s vital you understand here that Landix is a lunatic. I asked for his permission to place a link here to his website but the doofus declined. Yes. Crazy, just crazy I’m telling you.
But he’s also really good, so it’s not much of a question why I collaborated with him. At least to me.
Really now, Landix is not all that bad. A little crazy, but an artist and more importantly, a friend. You’ll be seeing more of him soon. Well, I hope.
Now second, my niche.
I started this blog without much of a niche – more of decided to make an outlet for my random thoughts, rants, and music I’m too chicken to share to my mainstream outlet – the magnificent FB. I was just putting random brain droppings time and again. But very recently, it just dropped on me one late night staring-at -the-ceiling-with-headphones-at full-blast session.
My niche would be to tell stories.
I know it’s another kind of brain droppings, but at least brain droppings you can categorize. Blame it on my control freak streak. But yeah, I have decided to communicate with the world in a new way. This time I’ll use an old friend, “fiction”.
I’ve always loved stories. I learned to read because I was told those boring-looking things called books hold so much of them. I look forward to my father’s bedtime stories as a kid. As a teen, with great reluctance, I wore glasses because I won’t give up this love for stories. The glasses grew thicker with time. Yes, until now.
Maybe it’s the little truths stories always have, even though we call them “fiction“. Many men, women, and children could attest to the great power some of these little truths hold. Still, some of them are also just as what they seem, little.
And yet, it doesn’t make them any less.
I guess I will always love stories. It’s really not something you can stop. It’s part of what makes you you. Or me. Yeah, you get it.
So, logically, I created stories simply because. Like water flows because it is meant to. Like the wind dances and, yes sometimes, destroys. Destiny. Fate. Or simply choice. A choice made with ultimate love.
And like how some people treat their dogs, their dolls, or those things I think come from another planet (they say it’s called cars), I treat these stories as my babies.
There’s only one thing I ask of you. Love them or hate them, but treat these stories with respect. At core, they really meant good. For no story is evil by itself. They are what we, people, make of them. Respect them, and they will pay you back for it.
They always do – or else.
Now for the third and most important part.
Readers, Likers, Commenters, Haters, Followers, Spammers, and my dear Friends, human or not…
I thank you.
For what? Many, many things. Perhaps for licking mooses, for fighting for kids, for sharing less noticed beautiful works of art, for adding beauty to the world, for being a shcmuck of a clown, and a gazillion other as important reasons.
But most of all, for acknowledging that THIS exists.Of course, you know what I mean.
The day the sun rose again, the flowers bloomed, I sang, I didn’t wake up screaming, I danced, I kissed, I pooped without straining, I wasn’t hit by a truck, mom didn’t scream even once, he told me I’m beautiful, the TV wasn’t turned on, a 2-year old grinning nephew woke me up, my ear log book didn’t have politics signed up, I turned 20, I laughed, I didn’t find him naked in bed with a naked girl (or guy), I bear hugged him, my phone was on silent mode, bought 4 ooh la la books, had enough time to lie supine for hours and do nothing (in daytime), had a 2-second passing thought that all men must have some goodness inside or once had, I breathed, I existed.
Boy, was that a beautiful day!
And oh yes, that was the day I was born here in the blogosphere, too.
Great day. Great day.
I’m completely at a loss.
I don’t know what to do, it’s not the first, but this time it’s crucial I need to know what to do. I know what I want, but unfortunately, what we want is not always what is right.
Or is it? Is it the one really important thing we need to focus our choices on?
I am torn between so many things I try to avoid thinking about them to avoid going nuts. But it’s just making everything worse because deep down I have this deep anxiety that stems from a voice saying, “You need to make a choice and you better do it quick“. It’s true really, even though I would kill whoever that punctiliously right voice belongs to (that’s right. Suicide. Pfft).
Nursing vs Arts?
Travelling vs Staying with the man I love?
Staying in vs Moving out?
Study now vs Study later?
To write vs Deleting this blog?
Ignore vs Slam the door twice to the face of the one knocking right now?
To be myself vs To conform?
Lady Gaga vs Katy Perry? (kidding, they’re both hideous. Sorry again, fans.)
To comment or To let things be?
To smile or To tell him/her his/her existence is so pathetic I wonder how he/she finds the guts to continue living?
To cry or To read?
To Publish or Not?
Madness this is.
For 4 years I have committed my life to finishing a course I don’t have the passion with – in the beginning at least. Unexpectedly, I developed an inveterate sense of affection and respect for what I have been studying.
But affection and respect are different from passion.
Some people find their passions in discovering things. Some on putting things together. Some on collecting things. Some on destroying things. And undeniably, some on controlling things.
Mine was to create.
It is my passion to create something beautiful to add to this world – although I have accepted the fact that it would be sublime for some, refuse for others. I have this naïve belief that the world is still a beautiful place and we people only need a reminder of that, seeing as we have been forced to eat nihilism in the hands of the all-powerful media (watch the TV and you’ll get I’m saying).
Thus, as the stars and my own selection would have it, I have been creating: modest ideas to share with others, music to soothe their senses (and massacre others’ tympanic membranes), ”edible” food (though the only person willing to eat it was yours truly), a better, imperfect person within to be a blessing for others (and yeah, a curse for a few)
You see, I have this odd opinion that sharing what you can to others, even yourself, is both a gift to give and a reward in itself. When you know you have made something that conjures even a micro-inch more of a smile in them, you can’t help but believe hope still exists.
Still, still there are people who are so difficult to bridge you’d have more luck in attempting extraterrestrial communication.They have been hardened by time and circumstances; they need more than just another little song, quote, picture, movie, event, or least of all a piece of petty writing from someone who “didn’t have a taste of hell yet”.
But well, the greatest transformations needed more than just a single effort.
And a big thanks to The Magnificent Mother Nature (and greedy politicians) for the law of accumulation – because we can be at ease knowing that every little, insignificant, and petty BUT good, beautiful and true things they have ever experienced are sure to sum up and become one giant ice cream of goodness that they surely cannot resist for long.
I know I should have entitled this “Idealism at Its Finest”.
So that’s my rant for the day. And yes, all is well.
*Evil Brother and Despicable Cousin (yep, that’s a RAT’S TAIL on his head :< ) discover the portal to the El Mundo Magnifico of The Ice Cream Land!!!
“It’s so much easier to mock everything than to discuss our true feelings.”
I couldn’t have started this better than with the preceding quotation. It was spoken by Ali, a character from Black Gold – a movie that has touched me lately, and led me to this writing.
It led me to yet another staring-at-the-notebook session and from there I have come up with the idea that the people who suffer most in life turn out to be either of two things: 1.)cynical and depressed individuals; mostly with antisocial tendencies, 2.)the most light-hearted, easy – going people in the world. The former one chose the easier path, the latter chose to go against what fortune, or lack of it, wanted him to become.
No, I don’t have any formal education in Psychology, nor will I claim to have gone through hell and its branches in my twenty years of existence. So there’s no watertight reason why you should believe this. Rather, this is a personal need for me to achieve the balance that is so remote these past few days.
It has been my refuge to convince myself that happiness is what you make out of life and not some destination, nor loot we should all seek to find. Like a hidden treasure we should make all the preparations to discover. And so I try, with ease fortunately, to face life with as light a demeanor as I can manage.
But life is a trickster.
Once you’ve found an effective way to adapt, it then changes its strategies and forces you to doubt people, their intentions, and your whole new outlook on life. Do we really cover up issues that need to be faced when we choose to sweeten it all up with a satirical approach? Is it wrong to focus on the positive side of things and ignore the depressing events around you which there really is little you can do about? Is it a futile feat to try to make a new path different from what most clouded souls follow? Would it do a person better if he tries to live as what society dictates to be a productive individual – one that has a stable job in a stable institution who pays stable taxes in these oh-so-stable governments?
I have already met so many cynics, and I admit I couldn’t blame them for how they’d turn out. The insults, abuses, prejudice, and mockery you could get from the world around you is enough to make one a cold – hearted individual. I used to respond to these people with a temper I would do my best not to come up with again today. But if I dig deeper, I know that what I really wanted was to scream until my larynx dries up from an inch of these people’s faces. Yes, I am not so different as to not possess that violent streak that every human being was bestowed with from birth.
But I choose not to use it. As long as I can help it.
And yet again, like YOU, I have limitations and that’s why I have written this piece of melodrama. I made a decision to keep this blog with a mood as light as it can be – not to the extent as a 4-year old can relate to because I don’t have that pure a mind.
But yes, like YOU, I am someone who exists, and yet asks what’s the point of all of this.
Image courtesy of http://www.cherrybam.com/sad-quotes.php
Whoever first said that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and related it to parent – child relationships clearly doesn’t know my parents. Fine, that is an exaggeration. I do have some qualities possessed by…
…okay, moving on, ehem, I wanted to share the misfortune that has befallen the pathetic existence of my friend, Joan (sorry, Jo).
Joan had the
revoltingly despicable perfect guy (if you’re not picky) for, say, 5 months now until she learned yesterday that he planted his seed on her best friend’s birth canal. I mean, wow, that guy must have secretly hated Joan. Or maybe the male specie just can’t control their hormones upon sight of a flirtatious human being with two protruding frontal milk reservoirs.
But whatever the reason is, I consider it an Oddity.
By definition, an Oddity is something that one either dreads to occur (occur, for it is in fact a calamity. Maybe I should have used calamity on the title. Nah, too lazy for that now…) and if it does it is impossibly difficult to dissect the mystery as to why you have allowed excess idiocy to pop up when you let it happen/did not see it coming.
Well, here is a list of the phenomena I consider as Oddities (in no particular order):
1.) BF planting seeds on BFFs V – zone
2.) Rents telling you you’re adopted (after you’ve convinced yourself that your chinky eyes are just a manifestation of some psychosomatic disorder rooted on guilt over your porn stash)
3.) The worst hairstyle of the century (yes, on your head)
4.) Darwin’s Theory of Evolution (so obvious, I don’t know why they had to wait for Darwin to patent it)
5.) Gas explosion in the middle of a sermon (mmm – hm, from your A – hole)
6.) YOUR cat’s reign over the furniture (I am NO guilty in owning a cat – I’ve seen too much of that anomaly)
7.) Herpes (need I say more?)
8. ) Snot – bubble in the middle of laughter (…hopefully not in front of your boss)
9.) Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore being gay (I SHOULD have seen that coming!)
10.) Falling in love (that, dear friends, is a CALAMITY)
So there you go, my first ten list of Oddities.That’s it. I’m done here. Now I have to inspire myself.
*All images courtesy of Google search
***P.S. Feel free to add to this list! :p