Last One Minute

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.

Thanks.

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?

Just wondering.

Why?

Let me tell you a story.

This story may be about a demon or me or you, but that doesn’t matter really.

Why?

***

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.

“Why?”

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.

Still is.

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.

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.

The Question.

***

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?

Why, I think you know.

*VII. Finale

“Final Kiss” by Landix (Click to view full image)

“Now, now you heard it,

Tales most far from sweet,

Her music gentle, clear,

Yet each note hides a tear,

From Great West to Far East,

Rough North, Treach’rous South,

Where songs begin, nurtured,

Melody she sings to you now.

You may or may not believe,

She only speaketh what she sees;

No friends, enemies, allies, or foes,

The Wind simply exists -

To collect mem’ries long forgotten,

Tales without her would’bin lost,

An’ when End arrives she’ll bring it,

To Time, waiting on his post.

But End still lies in slumber,

The World sees not his face,

But you, m’dear, have met him,

Now you must leave this place.

So hold my hand now, don’t fear,

For I am only Death,

To other worlds we’ll venture,

A new tale you must set.”

*V. Elegia, a Love Story

This gallery contains 1 photo.

If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us. -Hermann Hesse (1877 – 1962), Demian I stand here in the balcony and weep, not for any cause, woes, and hurts noble but for mine and mine alone. The one time I …

I Told You I’m Mad, Did I Not?

“…It is proposed that happiness be classified as a psychiatric disorder and be included in future editions of the major diagnostic manuals under the new name: major affective disorder, pleasant type…”

“…Then happiness is surely “a discrete cluster of symptoms…associated with a range of cognitive abnormalities.” People laugh and smile foolishly, speak too fast,  and exhibit “cognitive abnormalities” by failing to keep in mind death, decay, the plight of the globe, and the essential thoughtlessness, wickedness, and selfishness of people.

Clinching the proposition that happiness is a disease, the author of the paper in theJournal of Medical Ethics then writes that happiness probably “reflects the abnormal functioning of the central nervous system.” This is not an imaginary disease but one that could be demonstrated with anatomical, biochemical, or genetic abnormalities if we were clever enough.

Finally, some shallow readers of this blog might object that happiness is “not negatively valued” (Roth again mocks scientific writers’ love of double negatives like “not uncommon”), but this claim, the original author dismisses, as “scientifically irrelevant.” Scientists are prone to such grand dismissals, and I dare any BMJ reader to say that happiness is not a disease. That it is so is proved.“

Right.

And as I previously said, I am a RED ELEPHANT. Now I’m also a very shallow reader. And I deserve to be UN-happy and remain healthy and disease-free. Just as much as you do.

Now really, I think I’d rather be happy and abnormal than UN-happy and normal any day. The whole world is so addicted with convincing themselves mad. Bother.

Will you just kill me now?

Boo-yah.

(Full article: http://blogs.bmj.com/bmj/2010/11/08/richard-smith-now-happiness-is-declared-a-disease/ )

Stay happy too long and you just might meet him…

*III. The Thinker’s Monologue

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Every morning, sunrise or not, there’s one thing that remains the same – I wish I were someone else. I wish I could sleep; that I could eat, cry. That I could die. I guess the bitterness stems from not being able to move even an inch from my post for too long a time …

On Being a Closet Eeyore

It’s easy to talk about people’s failures especially if they’re not closely related to us. That way, there’s little chance for embarrassment from being caught. Ironically, they usually find out about it anyway and we don’t really learn our lesson every time they do.

Maybe at core, sans regards to norms and mores, we really meant to be rude (I already talked about that here).

I find it a little difficult to believe she (?) finds it rude when people talk not so nicely about her.

Months have passed since I last hung out with my friends. Like always, we kid, we chat about what’s going on with who, show business’s latest fails, and of course, the latest gossip – oftentimes about people we always see but never really talk to (thus, not getting the whole picture, which in turn makes it the more interesting to speculate about their closet skeletons). They’re simply the easiest targets.

It’s all really easy and fun! For a while.

Then you go blurt out one stupid line concerning religion’s flaws/increasing number of beggars/worsening state of the environment/a really awesome graphic novel/psychological explanations behind people’s behaviors/relationship between heavenly bodies and character traits/ballooning rates of divorce and abortion/the horrors of the economic environment/the justice system’s impending collapse/other things you’d WISELY not mention in a light chitchat over ice cream – and everyone turns silent.

At least for three seconds.

Then there would be those genuinely curious/concerned who respond with a question or an honest opinion about it. But 90% of the group will usually either stare at you as if they’ve seen someone who wears a denim shorts in a formal dinner (it surely isn’t illegal?) or maybe develop a sudden, very profound interest in a single focal point – usually their fingers or the floor.

It’s vastly irritating.

I also know I would probably regret that line since there still is a slight chance one or two of my darling friends will be reading this. But then so be it. Everyone must know how it feels to be an outcast once in a while. After all, we all exert efforts (consciously or otherwise) to fit in every single day of our lives. It’s simply unrealistic to, or expect to, succeed every time.

I know I don’t.

Eeyore loves his friends. He just finds it a tad gloomy when they don’t get his ideas even though they seem to really try to. Still, friends ARE friends.

Image Sources:

Lady Gaga , Eeyore and Friends

I Write Again Because I am Mentally Disturbed (or The Biggest, Lamest Joke Ever!)

Can’t decide what’s the fittest title.

“………..”

Do you believe that anything is possible?

I guess I do – if “possible” means a chance that things are going to happen/be proved happening/happened. Keyword: chance. ONLY a chance and it doesn’t really mean it is an indisputable fact.

Possible.

Is it possible that I have a mental disorder?

Yes.

If you thought of something perverted while looking at this image then I beseech the Fates to not let us cross paths. Ever.

Now before you come into conclusions, let me elaborate. That was really a random thought. It’s not that I’m not feeling myself lately. In fact, I feel delicious! I’d say good but the delicious is the best good word, so it fits in better. Not that I’m thinking of food/sex always. Not really.

See, I think there is a very fine line between sanity and the world beyond. There are so many categories of mental disorders these days that a seemingly normal person might actually be diagnosed with one if he consults with a psych – ologist/iatrist.

It scares me.

I mean, who decided first on what is normal or not anyway?!

*!!!OMG, help!!! I can feel my brain turning into jellybeans! Focus! FOCUS!!!*

Where were we? Right, I really think life is either one big mystery or a very bad joke it’s funny. Maybe both. And it’s because of these things we call Differences.

Yes, Differences.

It’s because of Differences that man’s life went on as it is. When we first realized we were different from the other two – legged freak, we saw this as something that separates us, causing us to feel a myriad of emotions – shock, confusion, curiosity, fear – but fear, being the prince of the Emotions, reigned and led us to sought a solution to fix the “Difference”. So we naturally look for other people who share the “same” interests with us and pounce on that being who is “different”.

It’s a big joke, right?

For no two humans are always alike. Elementary. We’ll always find differences with anything and anyone. But we whine it’s too difficult to live with that. So instead of living with our differences in peace, wars started, labels multiplied, groups of people broke up and regrouped with others only to do so continually but with different sets of people.

Is it stupid? A bad thing, so to say?

Maybe it depends on the kind of difference that caused it all.

We can say a “Good Difference” is one where no moral code is violated, and the “Bad Difference” violates something.

Right???

So is it a Good Difference between I, a “perfectly normal” person, and someone who wears a neon green cape for daily use? It doesn’t violate anything except my highly intolerant, aesthetically-inclined eye which I guess doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make him/her a bad person.

So is it?

Probably, but not for that Batman – wannabe since he may just have guaranteed himself a spot in an asylum because shrinks call him “histrionic” at the least who has an inclination to butcher gay people.

And is it a Bad Difference between I, again a “perfectly normal” person, and a human being who kills another human being without the common sense of being a cop or a soldier or a doctor first?

I guess it is.

But what if he kills a person who is planning to kill hundreds of other people to gain a.) Power b.)Money c.) Both d.)Nothing, he just likes killing?

Is it still a Bad Difference?

Sometimes I think I have ADHD. But no (Denial phase! Watch out for Anger!), not really. I just need someone to have a stimulating discourse with, but I guess a lizard could be inadequate for that. So next option is (no, not self-talk since I have enough of that. Enough!) to write and hope to disturb the unfortunate reader/s’ beliefs and ideologies. Truth is I don’t even know what that word means.

Wow.

It is inevitable for me to end with a conclusion that life really is one big ginormous barrel of joke. I am so done trying to make sense of it. I leave that to ye, oh noble mind doctors (but I’m ready to bet you’d pass the curse to the nearest person after a few more years or so. But no fear, I won’t be telling anyone except THAT malicious monkey reading this, so you can go proceed with your practice).

I guess the point of survival living is not to make sense of everything but to find the ability to remain complacent without anything making sense.

Yes, that should be it. (Big grin)

Now, I could sleep.

Oh Lord, you really are a joker. Good one. Good one.

P.S. I shouldn’t be a nurse. I’d infect my patients with the JellyBean Brain Syndrome before they could even shout for help.

P.S.S. To any mind doctor with the misfortune to read this, can you give me a diagnosis? Of course, I couldn’t pay you but you might be stupid and kind for all I know.

Image Courtesy of Google Images

A Very Long Post on Quantum Physics Written About a Year Ago – Or Not Really

(But really, it’s written about a year ago. I’m a worse writer then. You can back out now.)

Who am I?

A question that continues to haunt man since time immemorial. But what is it that keeps him from finding the answer to that ever daunting question?

It asks not only your name or age but what makes you an individual, a separate entity and not just a statistic in an ever expanding society. If I tell you ʽI am Jenny, 19, and still a student’, can you say that you already know me?

No.

So the question remains – who am I? I am me. But another question follows. What makes me me? That is the most difficult part. For you see, I can say that I am a daughter, a son, a student, a Christian, an artist, an atheist, a Democrat, a Republican, a Muslim, a Russian, an anarchist, a loyalist, a scholar, a rebel, a doctor, an actor, a goth, a homosexual, blah, blah, and blah…

Those are things that you can also say for about a hundred million other people. It does not define you as a separate being. They’re merely labels. And the truth about labels is that they are used not with individuals but to categorize people.

Or divide. Maybe both.

Now one may argue that he can be a Christian and a Goth, while another could only be the former and not the latter. So that defines him from another person, eh? Having a label that the other person does not share. But that is all too generalized. Can that person say with conviction that he is the only Goth Christian in the planet? Not.

And so the question remains, what makes a person an individual? How do you answer the question ‘Who am I’?

The easiest and the laziest way to answer would be to say that you are a nobody, which is an utter lie in itself because a person is always a somebody to someone else, even if it’s not for everybody. Even a tramp that society labels as a nobody is a somebody to someone else – a long-lost friend, a mother, a son, a lover.

Specifics. Yes! At last, you say to yourself, I have already found the right way on how to answer that question. I’m going to flood them all with specifics about myself.

I am Juan Miguel Madrid y Saavedra, 21 years old, 5’8” tall, 158 lb, a junior mechanic. My parents are Ricardo and Cecilia Madrid and my two older sisters are Anastacia and Isabella Madrid. I have lived all my life in Havana and I don’t plan of moving anywhere else. I am in love with a girl working in a paladar near the shop where I work and I plan to marry and have 2 children with her. I am and will be a mechanic for the rest of my life because that is all that I ever know how to do. I was born on the shores of this land and this is where I intend to be buried. So there, now you know me and you cannot say that there is another person on this planet who can say the same words as I have. Now you know who I am.

True, there may not be another Juan Miguel Madrid y Saavedra the Mechanic in the planet, but is that all there is to it with that person? Is that all he is? A resident of Havana who plans to have a family and be a mechanic for the rest of his life and after which reside six feet under his birth soil – is that all?

Why not?

Why do we have to complicate everything? Why do we have to force him to say more about himself if that is his own understanding ?

“I must find a truth that is true for me . . . the idea for which I can live or die” as Søren Kierkegaard, the first writer to ever call himself existential (Wiki says!), has stated. Yes, it may pertain to a discussion about morality but it also rings true to a question of identity. It is never the society’s task to define a person but only the person’s own. The question who am I can only be answered by the individual because it is he who experiences his life. Society may set traditions and norms, but it is up to the individual to follow or head the other way.

For one, an environment in which a person lives in may be brutal and unforgiving, and yet it does not necessarily mean that the people living in such a place would turn out to be the same. One person may turn out to be an adapter – cold, harsh, and eternally suspicious, while the other may be a dissenter – warm, gentle, and trusting.

Choice.

That is what sets the two apart, their own choices. One chooses to survive in his environment by means of adaptation, he can only survive if he takes in the characteristics that his environment requires. If I live in an environment where everyone is hostile to one another and is constantly judgmental and only seeks personal gratification and individual advancement, then I cannot allow to be swallowed whole by the situation. I have to be cold so their hostility could not affect me, nor could their judgments. I would not care less. And in a milieu where everyone seeks to trample and rise above the other, I should be suspicious to anyone’s actions. That is the only way to survive.

The other however disagrees with conforming and chooses to do the opposite – he dissents. If I am surrounded with people who treat everyone as an opponent, as a threat, then I have to be warm and live without competing with them. If I do that, then eventually they would see how I am not a threat. And eventually, if all goes for the best, then they would stop treating everyone as a threat. Yes, it may not always be true with everyone but you can’t help but influence one or two or more people because of how you treat and interact with them. I chose to be different because I want change. And I can’t just wait for it to happen. If no one would, then I will start with myself. And it will show to the people I meet. Maybe they will follow and maybe they will not. But I can’t just stand and live in a world that repulses me. If I want it to change then I have to do something. That is the only way I can truly say I have lived.

Both have made a choice, though similar they are not. But it is clear they have decided on a certain course of action for which they can live with, and it will reflect on the kind of person each would turn out to be.

So would it be safe to say that what shapes a person is his own choices? Perhaps.

But like everything else, it is subject to the big C. CHANGE.

So back to the question: “Who am I?”.

Personally, I am yet to discover that. But the good thing is I know where to look for the answers. And even with that knowledge I still can’t find the ultimate answer in the present because the place where I look for is constantly changing, trivial or otherwise – myself.

And even then, one must be open to the possibility that he may never achieve a satisfactory answer to that question for as long as he may live. But tell me, do we really have to know? Or do we just have to accept the idea that there are things that exist which are beyond one’s understanding and the best way to deal with it is to just live and savor the experience while it is still there? If meaning is what we sought after, then searching might be futile if we only limit ourselves to that which is tangible, to that which tries to explain, to human reasoning. Shouldn’t we then accept the idea that there are things our human minds will never understand, that are reserved only for the understanding of a higher sort?

Ah, Life. I can’t help but agree with the character Alyosha when he says, “We must love life more than the meaning of it”. Why can’t we just live without questioning everything? Or rather, live and question, but never despair if you won’t find the answer? Do we question the meaning of our lover’s existence or do we just continue on loving them?

I believe we may find the greatest experience of bliss in the latter.

Questions, questions…sometimes these things are enlightening. But it is faith even amongst unanswered questions that really sustains.

So who am I? I am me, but what makes me me I can’t tell you yet. I do know one thing though. I choose to live. And as much as possible, I choose to be happy.

Look at the choices you’ve made, and think about the ones you’re about to make, then maybe you will find the answer as to who you really are. Or maybe not.

But at least you will know what you want.

Image Sources here.

Rudeness and Poop-eating

(WARNING: There are 10 mentions of the word “shit” in this post, including the aforementioned. You have the choice to proceed or not. You are warned.)

First, do not take the title literally if you have any self-respect left at all.

Second, breathe deeply and unlatch the barriers limiting your conscious mind, lean back in that chair, yes, good, just like that, and turn on Stateless – I’m on Fire. This step is vital.

Third, listen to me rant.

(Of course, you DO NOT have to do any of that, heh! But if you want to know what’s running inside the head of an ignorant half-wit how come you act so rude to people who “don’t know” any better than you or have been the one at the receiving end, well…)

I guess everyone has that superhero ingredient inside them – just in varying amounts. You know, the ingredient that makes you stand up against something for those who can’t. That bit of me has been triggered a lot of times by RUDE PEOPLE (Definition: People who are being rude just for the sake of it). Which leads to this.

FACT:

By that definition, all rude people are poop-eating misanthropes. Unless they are psychopaths, which only makes them misanthropes. Big difference, you’ll see.

PROOF:

Ever heard of the phrase, “I feel like shit today”? Those are lines of people who feel so down and have little to zero confidence in themselves. They have tremendously low self-esteems at the time. But these people are still 7×12 steps higher from the rude people.

There are people who act/say something rude when they are provoked. And we are NOT talking about them. We’re talking about those who told you to get a fucking life because something you said (and mind you, not even to them) clashed with their set of beliefs, if you can call making a fool of yourself a belief. We’re talking about the people who gave you mocking looks and answered you in a tone that says, “You better be joking if you even have a brain” when you sincerely asked them what does LOL mean, or something like that. We’re talking about those people who made you feel like you don’t deserve to even exist as a urinal for their four-legged friends who sport fur. They, and their sorts, are the people we’ll be talking about. Or I. Whichever fits you.

I would bet, if we are to get even a tiny glimpse of these people’s past or current miserable situation, that we would see an adolescent boy who has been made to run naked across the street by a gang of bullies who can only tell jokes worse than they could spell; a girl who has been told more times than she could care to remember how idiotic she is for even thinking like she does; a boy who can’t even hold a minute-long conversation with his father without hearing a variation of how big of a failure he is – or generally speaking, a past where they have been made to feel like they’re all complete shits.

Sadly for you, this feeling/thought stuck on their minds. But even the this person’s mind is more powerful than the latest supercomputer. And their minds automatically activated its defense mechanisms. They have an INFERIORITY COMPLEX to the magnanimous intensities that any act that would make them feel SUPERIOR is like oxygen to the lungs, food for the stomach, sound to the blind, wings to the bird, wheels to a car, me for your heart (bwahaha!), yes, yes, you get it, and they would do just about anything in their power to get a taste of this false superiority.

And what better way to do this than to make the people around them feel like the E.coli-infested shit that they are, right?

Don’t let them fool you.

Yes, they may have been able to make you feel worthless. But you are only shit. These people are far worse. They feel even lower than you are, chronically making people feel bad, doing this for such a long time only to have that false sense of superiority that doesn’t last. And at that very moment they made you feel like shit, they did because they are still feeling and are so miserably insecure and inferior as they always have been.

You are shit. But they eat your shit.

And you don’t have to stay a shit for a long time either. They may have succeeded in making you feel like shit, but you hold the choice to move on. You are only feeding their delusions of superiority when you answer their taunts, when you play their game. Ignore them. If you can’t, then ignore their effect on you. Fake it if you must – act and decide not to be miserable and you will eventually believe it. After all, the mind controls the feelings. And you must control your mind.

Move on.

And to you, rude people a.k.a poop-eaters, get over it. All of us had our share of misfortunes, abuses, losses, hurts, humiliation – but we don’t dwell on it too much. We have a choice not to. We are not given time and free oxygen to waste it on thinking and weeping over, and over, and over our miserable pasts. It’s done. Don’t fool yourselves thinking it still matters because it doesn’t. Unless some miserable genius has invented a time machine then you can obsess over your past and device ways to change it, but until then – for cheese’s sake, STOP EATING POOP!

Unless you’re a fungus, that is.

This is how a fungus looks like. Do you see any likeness when you look in the mirror? Do you?

(NOTE: I am not a degree holder in Psychology, Psychiatry, Sociology, Anthropology nor Dating 101. I merely used to be a poop-eater, one who moved on (phew!). So you have every imaginable reason not to believe me. And you better not. Because I am a liar. And if you choose not to believe me then you believed a liar. Which makes you what? Right, a FOOL. So now you really don’t have a choice but to believe me. Alright, now I need a drink.)

By the way, you would keep this as our little secret, won’t you?

Image Courtesy of Google Images

I Therefore Conclude…

That I am not an intellectual. An intellectual is someone who loves to learn, tries to learn, and actually learns a lot. I got 2 out of 3. I just never seem to learn a LOT – if not any less than I do 15 years ago.

15 years ago I learned…

*To do unto others only what I want others do unto me.

(Now I do, did, probably will still do unto others what I’d offer my savings account, mini library, and promise to make a twitter account for them not to ever do the same to me. And vice versa.)

*To listen when a person speaks in front.

(So when a blabbering buffoon is on your side and trying to get as close without resorting to sticking a pole inside any orifice, um, you are excused, right?)

*To eat only nutritious foods. And only when you’re hungry.

(A lesson I have happily un-learned! Unless you don’t count eating a large chunk of chocolate when you’ve just had dinner against it.)

*To respect the elderly.

(With all due honesty, I have tried to uphold this for as long as I can remember. But there are tempting times Satan prepared himself  by hiding in the guise of a septuagenarian lady, making me want to grab her cane and use it to whack Satan out of that innocent body.)

Aww…that face!

*To say sorry when you hurt someone.

(But after a decade and a half, I have de-evolved from a human into a chicken for I find myself too much of a coward to utter even this two-syllabic word without the aid of dagger looks and a terribly messy situation.)

*To not speak nor go with strangers.

(I blame the one who said “strangers are merely friends you have yet to meet”. I wonder if that person ever had the reward of meeting and having a little chat with Mr. H. Lecter.)

Tell me you’re not tempted to run when you look behind and see this face 2 inches from yours.

*To mean what you say and say what you mean.

(This time I blame the books written in the style of beautiful, subtle sarcasm. And politics, of course.)

*To never tell lies.

(Ha! Now who would I blame? You? You? Or you?)

Fifteen years is quite enough time to have forgotten all these lessons. I am certain I learned a whole lot more back then. But due to lack of practice/application of these lessons poor memory, I only have these eight to share.

Let me make it clear that I am not saying the older you get, the dumber you’ll become. Fact is that there’s a turning point somewhere in the age line (they say it’s different for everyone…I do wonder who “they” is/are) when Fate itself drives you toward the long lost fountain of wisdom.

But until you reach that point, you have no right to say you are wiser than a 5 year old.

This kid knows it all. He does. Oh come on, he really does!

Any lessons to share?

Images courtesy of Google Images

Profanities and A Red Ballpen: A Misdirected (?) Rant

(Do not read this if you want something cheerful/something to stop you from gulping down that whole bottle of Prozac in your hands.)

It annoys me how young people (and sadly some adults) can’t utter one sentence without having a cuss word in between these days.

Take these lines:

1. “We’re so fucking excited to get our hands on some shit!”
2. “What’s that you’re writing on your pussy piece of paper, you motherfucker?
3. “Turn off that shit of a song you prick. It’s so messin’ up mah mood.”

3 lines from 3 different people in 10 minutes. No wonder I’m up for a rant.

I don’t know what happened.

Maybe I was sucked by a black hole and ended up 100 years back, but I don’t recall ever assenting to this COOL trend in speaking where the adjectives that took centuries to form are merely replaced by a set of 10 words used repetitively which has “fuck” and “shit” as the generic terms.

I know you have every right to freely express your thoughts, but so do I. And if you want to improve your tasteless attempts at communication and expect a civilized response, why not try borrowing the red ballpen of Miss Sunshine from your kindergarten class and cross out those pretty little profanities inside your head before they come out of that miserably intolerable mouth? Believe me darlings, you are making our eyes and ears an object of torture.

So why don’t we just NOT look/listen to you then, eh?

Because clearly, it’s already too late. The damage has been done. You have already ruined our once-so-cheerful/near-to-pure day. And frankly, this language you are sporting DOES NOT make you look COOL. I repeat, it DOES NOT make you look COOL and only implies two things:

1. YOU WANT TO LOOK/SOUND TOUGH (only Santa knows what happened to you for using this defense mechanism).
2. YOU TRY TOO HARD TO LOOK/SOUND COOL (which by the way, you aren’t. At least not on my self-righteous book. Blame it on the media for telling us popular kids swear a lot and get out of it whip-free).

Yes, I sound like a bitter self-righteous grandmomma who had her last orgasm 15 years ago (which must be false, unless last night’s toe-curling, back-arching achievement was a generous gift in the form of a dream from the Greek God of Orgasm, Who-Knows-What’s-His-Name) but I just can’t let my eyes/ears bleed anymore without having my say.

‘Till next time you foul-mouthed, effin scattered pieces of my Salmonella-infested shit!

I Know! I’m Going MAD

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?

Argg@#$%^&*

Madness this is.

Gandhi Gone Mad!

Outpouring of a Troubled Soul: First Attempt

“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

The Fib About The Old Woman Who Woke Up On Her 20th Birthday

There was once a lady with a human mind – one that wants something so badly one moment, and desire the exact opposite the next. HUMAN.

She woke up all cranky and ugly, answering the people who greeted her with the enthusiasm fit for the day of one’s meeting with the Grim Reaper. Despite of  the efforts exerted by the people around her to cheer her up (or maybe because of it), she remained as Little Miss Stormy the whole day. And the root of it all was the failure of her prince charming to greet her on the first second of her birth date.

And so this person, who’s disputably the perfect embodiment of the word shallow sensible, went on making everybody’s day as depressing as it could be. She never went out of the room regardless of the calls of her mom, grandma, brothers, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, and pet dog. She wallowed in self – pity as she stared for minutes on end at that seemingly overpowering speck on her ceiling.

Boy, that was the best birthday of her life! Or it could have been…

It could have been, if she only went out the door enough to see the banner, with all the greetings and wishes the people she ignored the whole day, made for her.

It could have been, if she have bothered to respond to all the people who greeted her via text message, posted in her online accounts, personally shouted (they have to since the door was an unrelenting opponent) their greetings to her, and those that even tried to call her.

It could have been, if she had been humble enough to open that door and taste the source of the stimulating smell coming from the world beyond her  door that she had been savoring for hours. But pride kept her.

It could have been, if she only appreciated the effort her prince charming gave out to compensate for his “fault” by sacrificing being the object of his boss’s tirade only to woo and try to get her to smile and open her door to the world.

It could have been, if only she hadn’t been so silly and frivolous.

It could have been the perfect birthday celebration, if she just tweaked her attitude. Even for just a little.

But she didn’t. And so she remained the cranky, old woman the whole day of her 20th birthday, and lived to write about it.

Image courtesy of Google Search

**P.S.

(The last sentence was not meant to imply that old people are generally cranky. Only some of them are. Some are perfect little angels. Others remain to be nasty demons behind wrinkled masks.)