Posts Tagged ‘love

03
Nov
08

Random musings from a random mind.

On language:

The person who coined the phrase “A picture is worth a thousand words.” was clearly not familiar with minimalist photography. I’ve seen some pictures that could be summed up with a single sentence. Or a hand gesture.

If cash is king, does that mean that weed is the jester of the court? And what then is credit? Not to mention what ass is in this little period piece. I demand to know where all forms of payment stand in the social hierarchy of feudal despotism.

“Free speech zones” is such an oxymoron that I think you could actually stop time if you stand exactly half way between two of these areas and say something controversial. Either that or the very fabric of space will rip open like a bed sheet and cause the end of the universe. That’s powerful stupid.

That someone can be “legally blind” would seem to indicate that there are forms of blindness that are illegal. What would be the punishment for being illegally blind? A blind person probably fares pretty well in prison. It’s not like a blindey (a word for blind people I just made up) is going to get depressed by the view, or the lack of freedom to roam. What are the authorities going to do? Sew their ears shut?

On violence:

If a woman ever kicks me in the balls I’m going to punch her in the cunt at the first chance I get. I’ll swear to whatever imaginary character you want on that. I can’t even picture myself hitting a woman in any other situation (pun intended in every possible way). It’s not alright to strike nads, unless some sort of attempt at rape is involved. And even then there are nuances and levels.

Like in the movie Robocop when he shoots that rapist in the dick. That shit ain’t cool. OK? It’s excessive penis punishment. There’s an entire gray-scale when it comes to dick violence. You can’t just go around blowing blasting exploding off penises at every sign of trouble. When in doubt, aim for the face. That’s what I always say.

Think of the guy’s parents. I suspect they would much rather have a closed casket service and know that their son’s genitalia is at the very least still attached to his body. It’s comforting.

“Well thank God they shot him in the fucking face, huh?” – they’ll be saying.

On blogs:

Most bloggers write as if they’re trying to break their computers, and my tiny little brain. Random clusters of misspelled words describing their mind-numbingly boring activities. A mash of garbled words and meaning assault my senses. They should at minimum have the decency to punctuate properly. This will allow me to more easily discern when the first sentence is over. That way I can stop reading at the earliest possible moment, turn off my computer, go outside and weep a little for a language lost.

On love:

We all want to be loved, but we do not all get to be. The amount of love in the world is not equal to the number of people. Unfortunately some of us will have to do without at times. Think of it as a rolling blackout of love. All the more happy you will be when the light finally returns to your life, sooner or later.

Even the most evil and vile dictator, who has worked very hard at being feared, would much rather be loved. He just doesn’t know know how, since he’s a sociopath. Yet the yearning remains. There’s nothing abnormal or unusual or unnatural with the need to be loved. Just with some of the ways we go about trying to attain it. Beating someone to death with a strap-on is not acceptable, whatever the motivation behind it.

Love is if anything irrational. It can’t be quantified with reason or logic. We should not even try. To do so would be to diminish it. To make it into something less than it deserves to be. Maybe some find it alluring to try to decide what love ought to be in their lives and when it is to appear.

To me, it just seems preposterous. You’re the master of your own fate, not of the very essence of your being.

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27
Feb
08

A Modest Wish

To whom it may concern. (you know who you are)

Your love is the child seat going through the windshield that is my heart in the great traffic collision of life. We two do not have time for rational solutions, we’re wanted for assaulting a circus monkey. The perfect crime, some would say. The perfect crime for the perfect partner, that is you.

As you well know there is a thin line between hugging someone and holding them down so that they can’t escape. I will never escape from you, you’re a much faster runner.

So many memorable things have happened to us, unfortunately I can not remember any of these events. Does alcohol effect the memory? I think I read that somewhere once. In any event, I really like spending time with you. And also, you smell nice. Which is important in this smell-oriented modern world of ours.

Here’s hoping we won’t grow tired of each other in the near future.

– Dedicated to someone who did not love me.

Ps.
FUCK YOU!

14
Jan
08

The Man, part 2.

Bandaid



I got the call just as I was leaving work. I almost snapped off the band-aid from my finger while scrambling to get the phone out of my pocket. What the hell does she want now? Isn’t it enough that she rejected me? Is this some sort of sick game to her? I know alot of things, the only problem is that most of it’s wrong. One thing I am certain of however is that I love her. Or loved her, whichever makes me less pathetic. For the longest time she seemed like she was deciding. What she wanted from life, what she wanted from me. In reality though she had probably figured out exactly what she needed me for quite some time ago. Some sort of male companionship.

When other men treated her like shit she needed me to come in and reassure her. Tell her she didn’t deserve what she got. Keep her company. Maybe watch a movie and eat dinner together, in our little apartments. Knowing full well that I wanted her. On second thought it was entirely possible she couldn’t quite understand just how much this feeling had taken over my life. No, no she had to know. Not fully, but surely an inkling had to appear somewhere in that head of hers. We were more than friends. “Just friends” as she put it. The phrase that can make any grown man feel like he’s back in school, having just been humiliated in front of the class.

“This is my heart, please don’t dump it on the floor.”

I really need to get back home first and have a shower and change this band-aid. It’s starting to itch, a whole lot. If this thing gets infected I swear to God I’m going to go berserk! I’m not going to lose a finger over a bet. How the hell was I to know that Indian would be so good at the knife game? Proving once again that whisky and sharp objects don’t mix. The band-aid is getting frayed around the edges and discoloured. If only it was a Flintstones one like when you were a kid. That would be cute, that would be a way in when you’re picking up women. What the hell am I thinking? “Hey baby, wanna see my disfigured finger?” Sexy, real sexy.

Who was it that had fucked her and left this time? Some dashingly handsome actor? A mysterious musician? A successful banker? It didn’t matter. They were all the same underneath. The same insecure, preening, posturing bullshit artists that equally insecure women fall for. I knew most of these guys through friends of friends and acquaintances. Walking human echoes, one and all. What a whiny little bitch I had become.

At times that little piece of plastic cloth felt like it was the only thing holding me together.

19
Nov
07

Bullshit.

That’s what the world looks like to me right now. A big stinking mound of pure excrement. And it just keeps piling on every day. Higher and higher until maybe, hopefully, it all tips over and drowns us in a flash flood of feces. A turd tsunami of destruction. Enough with the poop talk.

Every time I think I’ve found a loophole it turns out to be a noose.  I used to be good at “the talking”, “the talking” was my thing. My only thing really. Now I just flop around like a fish having some sort of epileptic fit. I can’t believe how much time I’ve wasted trying to be something I’m not. I’m not a cool guy, I’m just a nice guy wearing an awesome shirt and hat. I don’t know which disappoints me more; Me trying to act like someone else or me being the exact same person I’ve always been. I’m essentially a tall 8 year old boy holding a beer. Somewhat more hairy of course.

At other times I feel like I’m doing a piss poor impersonation of myself.

Honestly, I quite often wish I was gay. Or at the very least bi-sexual. Which is sort of gay-lite, I guess, I don’t really know a lot about gayness. I’d imagine coming out to my family would be harsh but after that it’s just clear sailing ahead! No more having to deal with women and their bullshit! Now if I can just stay clear of natural disasters involving fecal matter and I’m all set.

Be quiet and let me love you. Let me love you and have some cake.