Slay Me, Swine. I Want the Pain.
Fuck. The server at WritingUp is down, and I have no way of sifting through the pages of bunk I've amassed over the past year on that site, so it's time to add an ill-advised and altogether useless addition to my small collection here at tBlog. I know so little of this forum and its inhabitants that any insults I might throw out--however well-deserved--could not be considered as derived from any actual experience. Therefore, I will refrain, for the moment, from calling you slugs or swine or rabid, half-dumb eunuchs knowing full well that those same labels could justifiably be applied to me. In a land of villains, I am the one without any balls.
It proves my point that the most brash of us are the most easily defeated. We compensate for our soft underbellies by launching vicious salvos against Others. The truth in all this, though, is that I despise meeting people in whom I see traces of my own characteristics. It's like looking into a mirror and hating what you see. Frankly, I am cursed in harboring extreme disgust for both the physical and mental reflections of myself, and even if this observation doesn't rule out narcissism or self-obsession (which it doesn't), I am loathe to make too many admissions at once lest I scare everyone off. It's not good to make enemies for no reason. Likewise, making friends in this manner is also inadvisable. So I'm going to hover around somewhere in the middle, something I will do unless we get on about Politics or Sex or Death.
Let's not do that just yet.
For those of you who haven't yet met the blogomutant incarnation of my physical self, I can tell you that anyone who would begin a sentence as I've begun this one should be ignored at all costs. It takes a special kind of self-love to speak as if you warrant any special attention. If there is one thing for which blogging must bear responsibility, it is for inflating our egos and making us believe that there is some solace to be had in this Electronic Wilderness. We mustn't ever fall victim to the notion that our prayers will be answered. There is an unwillingness to accept such a seemingly existential tenet, but rest assured, you would do well to avoid a rude awakening if possible. Gods--cyber and otherwise--are bastards, and they do not return calls. I have never espoused the existence of deities myself, but I would like to be proven wrong one day. After my last breath dissolves into thin air, I hope an ascent is in order. I hope I get to stand up there in front of the Big Man Himself and extend a hearty "fuck you" for all the people he's ignored over the years, whether it be because he was too busy or simply negligent out of silly pride.
I am just vomiting now, though, and any observations/postulations made in the previous paragraphs probably aren't worth mulling over for too long. After all, there are real things happening in the world. Anna Nicole Smith has passed on inciting a culpable media frenzy that is as idiotic as it is pervasive and uninteresting. George Bush and Company are bracing for all-out war against Iran, and even if that moment never comes, we can all point an incredulous finger at this dangerous, laughingstock administration and call them crooks for a whole laundry list of failures and misdeeds that should have landed them all in a federal penitentiary for an Eternity. Glaciers are falling into the ocean and so are the polars bears along with them. One of the largest schools of penguins faces virtual eradication if the situation on a charred Japanese whaler in the Roth Sea gets out of control due to inclement weather, and anything else worth reporting has already been done so by individuals far more qualified than myself. I've only got the big stories for today, and the nuances will fall to the wayside because of my laziness.
At least I haven't any blood on my hands other than my own, but then again, we all know that none of us are quite innocent enough to make such an irresponsible statement as that. Our claim to fame as humans has always been one of destruction, and our fates, in this regard, will taste much the same.
It proves my point that the most brash of us are the most easily defeated. We compensate for our soft underbellies by launching vicious salvos against Others. The truth in all this, though, is that I despise meeting people in whom I see traces of my own characteristics. It's like looking into a mirror and hating what you see. Frankly, I am cursed in harboring extreme disgust for both the physical and mental reflections of myself, and even if this observation doesn't rule out narcissism or self-obsession (which it doesn't), I am loathe to make too many admissions at once lest I scare everyone off. It's not good to make enemies for no reason. Likewise, making friends in this manner is also inadvisable. So I'm going to hover around somewhere in the middle, something I will do unless we get on about Politics or Sex or Death.
Let's not do that just yet.
For those of you who haven't yet met the blogomutant incarnation of my physical self, I can tell you that anyone who would begin a sentence as I've begun this one should be ignored at all costs. It takes a special kind of self-love to speak as if you warrant any special attention. If there is one thing for which blogging must bear responsibility, it is for inflating our egos and making us believe that there is some solace to be had in this Electronic Wilderness. We mustn't ever fall victim to the notion that our prayers will be answered. There is an unwillingness to accept such a seemingly existential tenet, but rest assured, you would do well to avoid a rude awakening if possible. Gods--cyber and otherwise--are bastards, and they do not return calls. I have never espoused the existence of deities myself, but I would like to be proven wrong one day. After my last breath dissolves into thin air, I hope an ascent is in order. I hope I get to stand up there in front of the Big Man Himself and extend a hearty "fuck you" for all the people he's ignored over the years, whether it be because he was too busy or simply negligent out of silly pride.
I am just vomiting now, though, and any observations/postulations made in the previous paragraphs probably aren't worth mulling over for too long. After all, there are real things happening in the world. Anna Nicole Smith has passed on inciting a culpable media frenzy that is as idiotic as it is pervasive and uninteresting. George Bush and Company are bracing for all-out war against Iran, and even if that moment never comes, we can all point an incredulous finger at this dangerous, laughingstock administration and call them crooks for a whole laundry list of failures and misdeeds that should have landed them all in a federal penitentiary for an Eternity. Glaciers are falling into the ocean and so are the polars bears along with them. One of the largest schools of penguins faces virtual eradication if the situation on a charred Japanese whaler in the Roth Sea gets out of control due to inclement weather, and anything else worth reporting has already been done so by individuals far more qualified than myself. I've only got the big stories for today, and the nuances will fall to the wayside because of my laziness.
At least I haven't any blood on my hands other than my own, but then again, we all know that none of us are quite innocent enough to make such an irresponsible statement as that. Our claim to fame as humans has always been one of destruction, and our fates, in this regard, will taste much the same.