Monday, October 22, 2007

Delicate Deviation

The past thirty days have been an eye opening experience. So much so that I now want to close them tightly, cover my ears, and wander about singing "La la la la". Bizarre clarity as the result of sobriety. Indeed, the world viewed without the blurred vision of beer goggles and endured without rum induced enlightenment is truly a dismal and depressing place.

You begin to notice the underlying selfishness that drives most everyone around. It should be no surprise really - After all who goes out of their way to do something they don't want to do unless properly persuaded with something to gain? Ethics and morality appear skewed. Blind faith and trust become tainted as motivations are questioned... And you find you don't much like the answers. A conspiracy begins to form as you slowly come to the realization that perhaps, just perhaps, not everyone has your best interests in mind.

Their blatant lies become...well... more blatant and obvious. Worse still are the unspoken omissions, those disturbingly familiar silences occurring when a topic is not-so-deftly avoided, or someone fears you simply can't handle the truth. The glimmering of understanding that you've been fooled, and the crushing discovery that you were quite content to be fooled.

Yes, the world, despite the freedom of misinformation, a few cosmetic touch-ups, and artfully crafted illusions, is not a pretty place. Nothing more than a seething mass of insatiable animals striving to rise up by whatever means necessary to feed a voracious hunger for self
satisfaction.

And it is impossible not to notice those who remain blissfully unaware. Content avoid individuality and adopting a herd like mentality - bumbling about with glazed eyes, occasionally peering about and wondering if the grass really is greener on the other side of the fence when they notice someone else barrel head-first over the barrier.

I've been sitting on that fence for quite some time now - Sometimes peacefully observing the eerily mesmerizing grazing patterns on one side, and sometimes gazing longingly at the vibrant pastures on the other. And even though I secretly suspect those fields are chemically treated and that no good could possibly come of it - I'm still sorely tempted to make a run for it.

All I need is a smidge more motivation - Perhaps a blinking neon sign, or a warm and enticing taco.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Spin in the Teacup with Alice

Bah. I’m miserable, mostly because I am not miserable. It appears happiness and contentment tends to stifle the imagination causing the creative juices to coagulate and refuse to flow freely. The brain atrophies, slowly choking off the oxygen supply to the inspiration center of the brain. It becomes near impossible to achieve the necessary levels of outrage, derision and malevolence required.

So, somewhere along the perimeter of this vicious circle I find myself miserable, because I am not miserable.

Strange things begin to happen when you remove strife, struggle, and distress from your life. Eliminate the desperate need for something better and rather than be left with a void slowly filling with happiness and joy you have an aching, empty hole hungry for heartache. You are left in an inexplicable state of abject contentment.
My perceptions have become so distorted, so excessively perverted; I can almost no longer recognize the wretchedness of the human condition. A self-serving, self-proclaimed misanthrope lacking angst, derision, and disdain? How disgraceful.

It really is my own fault. I should have seen it coming, but I permitted myself to have a minor lapse in judgment. I allowed the crafty harlot to sneak up on me. I never saw her, or the rose coloured glasses, coming.

For those of you unfamiliar with rosy-red spectacles and the changes they bring, let me assure you it is frightening and disconcerting. The flocks of sheep milling about the city centers begin to look like real people, complete with real feelings, dreams, hopes, and aspirations. The boss develops significant meaning for his actions above simply attempting to make your life unbearable. Earthquakes and the like that occur a vast distance away are of little importance. After all, they happened a vast distance away. Pestilence and famine appear to be trivial details, minor problems that will obviously be overcome momentarily through proper planning and well constructed aid programs. The woes of the world are insignificant, we have governments with our best interests a heart and they are toiling tirelessly through the night to ensure that tomorrow is a better day. You can sleep well at night knowing that when you awaken we will be one step closer to utopia, and through no actual effort of your own. Yes, the rose coloured glasses are a wonderful accessory, but they do very little for blocking out blindingly bright light.

Darling, I love you, and I know you like them, but really they make it difficult to see where I am going. So I am going to be forced to take them off before I bump into something dangerous and hurt myself or, worse yet, someone else. My newfound conscience couldn’t handle that. Thus, I shall auction them off on E-bay, or simply trade them off on a pair of dark sunglasses.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Argument ad Verecundiam

"A plan incubating in the brain
It hatches and flutters away
Leaving you walking on eggshells
And wondering what’s that smell
?"

A parasang south of nowhere, encompassed by the cold, I am rudely disturbed by the foul alarm clock – A most vile device. Expergefaction. I’m not at my best. Afflicted immediately with aprosexia, akasia, and the usual metaphoric proctalgia.
The chronically obtuse – too dull and thick to realize there is a problem. The exotic, quixotic – filled with vitality and life wandering about immune to the plight. The gloomy and morose; harbingers of doom. Oblivious blondes in gregarious groupings. Over-primped parvenu reeking of a physagogue overdose. Disingenuous smiles and Machiavellian plots.

Somewhere, out there, a village idiot thinks himself The Prince. The end. It justifies the means.

Hey good looking… Can I go nowhere with you? You lead. You seem to know the way well.

Political systems rife with Zabernism. Maculate nations.

Subsannation.

The pinguescent, merdivorous, mattoids. Mannequins following the bell-wether. Go ahead without me. I’ll just lay here and await my stovaine injection… the feeling is returning to my spine. But be quick – The smift is lit and it’s only a matter of time.

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Cheese is the Devil's plaything

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Familiarity breeds contempt. Well, apparently it has been copulating like promiscuous rabbits and so far the only fondness I’ve encountered is for the absence. Ample time was provided to alter heinous ways… yet still nothing.
Time passed. I received a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers. Unmanly. Childish. I love ‘em.

Religious propaganda delivered to my door with a handshake and a smile. Bored, I perused the pages:

Are we living in "The Last Days"? Bah. Of course we are.

Did God use evolution to create life? What mad heretic was permitted to pose this question?

Intrigued as to how they intended to end the whole Creationism/Evolutionary debate I read on.

Perhaps Adam and Eve was a story meant to teach a moral lesson and not intended to be taken literally. Oh my. I do think perhaps the religious community is on to something here. Perhaps if they applied the same logic to the rest of the text there is hope for them yet.

Keep reading.

Oh. Not possible.

It appears taking Adam and Eve out of the historical equation fucks with Jesus’ whole family tree. The family tree is, of course, sacrosanct. Thus there is no reason to believe in evolution.

It continued on for a few more pages, but I must say I lost interest somewhere about the time it began to argue that the length of each "day" it took to create the world was not, in fact, a literal twenty-four hour period, but a metaphor for the period of time… blah blah blah.

Sweet, stolen water - A metaphor for forbidden love.

Bridle thy tongue. Put away malicious bitterness, anger, and wrath.

But then what an empty husk I would be.

Wait ‘till the Saints win the Super-Bowl, then we’ll talk about faith.

As a honeycomb the lips of a strange woman keep dripping and her palate is smoother than oil. But the after-effect is as bitter as wormwood; it as sharp as a two-edged sword.

Idiots. It was the wormwood in the Absinthe that led me to the lips of the strange woman to begin with.

Call together the Sanhedrin. Let us discuss this. Or Politics. Or Money. I've got time to kill until the next soul saving issue is released.
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