One day, I awoke from uneasy dreams

to find that I had been transformed into a monstrous insect.

Kafka's words these. Except he didn't use I, he used Gregor Samsa.
But I think it much applies to what I feel like this morning. Like I have found myself transformed into some monstrous vermin.
I feel icky.

I don't really know why. I just really do feel this way. Like extremely unpleasant.

Perhaps Wretched is back.

Hmm.
Good Morrow.

I'm still alive yo.

Well, yes, after being incompetent at getting off my arse to write for little less than a week I am finally here again, blogging.

And, surprise surprise, I am still stumped on what to write about. So I'm just gonna let the conversation flow, yo! (STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS FTW INTERWEBBZ!)

Well. Erm. Yes.
Yes.

AH YES!

I have a new laptop. It is mucho kinky. Lenovo Touch Netbook. Turns into a tablet u can play with.

Well. Erm. Yes.

I have no qualms with society. Srsly, nothing happened this week interwebz. It's as if everyone is being careful and humouring me.

I might actually be kind of happy.
Brrr.

Good Morrow.

Self-pity, hyperbolate. Repeat.

Why do people have to hyperbolate when it comes to self-pity?

It is so annoying.

Embellishment is OK when it's for effect, I'm the first one to hyperbolate when it comes to making a point.

But when you're hyperbolating some form of self pity it makes you seem so...pathetic.

Ah well.
Good Morrow.

Hmmm.

I got into a car accident not an hour ago. Nothing too serious, just some idiot ran into the car from behind while I was on a stop sign.

But it made me think (surprise surprise).

The thought process went somewhat like this:

{Due to space constraints and dramatic effect, I am forced to use shorthand}
-OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG
-WTF??? WHAT JUST HAPPENED?
-omg was it my fault?
-FUCK THAT FUCKING IDIOT FUCK FUCK I COULD HAVE DIED FUCK HIM FUCK
-I could have died {No I couldn't have but bear with me here}
-Wow. I doubt it would have taken 3 seconds to put me out.
-Life is like a flickering flame.
-Oy, God, any advice?
-Oh wait you don't care

Or something along those lines.

I guess what I want to say is life is so fragile.
One slight swerve and the glass shatters into a million, irrecoverable pieces.

What is the human plight worth then?

Good Morrow

ETA: I'll go into the God stuff in a later post.

Beware, beneath the God stuff there's just more God stuff

Feelings. Ick.

There are days when one feels wretched. And in these days, one simply wishes to do nothing but wallow in his/her self pity. It is the worst feeling in the world. After a while you get used to it. Let me tell you a little story:

One day, I decide to personify this feeling. It is Wretched (note the capitilisation; it is being personified.) Wretched walks by my side and hugs me every so often.

When I feel Wretched, I recoil at its touch. But Wretched grips tighter, and I cannot help but feel Wretched. After a while, Wretched becomes a normality in my life. I begin to mistake myself with Wretched. I am Wretched. I am Me. I am not Me. I am not Wretched.

This conflict throws me into more tumult then ever. But Wretched still hugs me every day. Wretched becomes the only constant thing in my life. In a while, I am used to this feeling.

One day, I wake up and I do not feel Wretched. I am confused and thrown into more tumult then ever.

I need to feel Wretched. I cannot be me without feeling Wretched. I am in love with feeling Wretched. I realise this and allow Wretched to embrace me every day. I do not fight Wretched. I need Wretched.

If I am not Wretched, I am not me.

Definition:
The Power of Literature: phrase. The ability to make beautiful things out of nothing.

Example: Turning the worst possible feeling in the world into a love story.

Good Morrow.

A Collective Madness (or in more conventional terms: Sanity)

I once read a book (go figure) by Paulo Coelho: "Veronika Decides to Die".

Paulo Coelho is a spiritual writer. He believes inherently in a God, not necessarily the catholic one, describing Him/Her (referring to God more often as Her or The Lady) as a cosmic force that one cannot comprehend but is benevolent.

I do not usually agree with these sort of spiritual writers (like Young in "The Shack") but Coelho has a way of being very...convincing.

His spirituality is not bound by religion. That is what is amazing about him. That is what I love about him. It is a universal force, shows us signs everywhere and leads us in our lives. That's what I don't agree with.

But this post is not about God. Otherwise I would have titled it "A Post About God"

No, this post is about sanity.
Yesterday I saw "Girl, Interrupted"

I wanted to know why Jolie got the Oscar that's the main reason I watched it.
It was as such a mediocre movie, OK direction, OK Script. Nothing special.
Jolie's performance on the other hand was PHENOMENAL.

But this post is not about Jolie. Otherwise I would have titled it "A Post About God"

No, this post is about sanity.
"Girl, Interrupted" is about a girl's experience in a mental institution.

She has an affliction called "Normality"
But how can "Normality" be an affliction?

"Normality" drove this girl to "Insanity".

Paulo Coelho described "Normality" as a "Collective Madness"
Veronika, the title character, realises that only those locked up and called insane are truly free.

A man after my own heart.

Sanity is equatable, in some form or other, to convention.

Convention sucks.

Good Morrow

An Introspective Post

Well, yesterday I saw the movie "Changeling". A truly chilling tale of crime, corruption, loss and murder of innocent children. It may not be your cup of tea, but I suggest that you watch it anyway. It is a work of art, in terms of both its direction and Jolie's acting.

And hence, as most great works of art do, they cause me to start being introspective. They make me look at society and question it: its morals, its repercussions on the individual.

True, the movie is set in 1928: nowadays, if you kill a person in the US, if you sneeze within twenty-four hours the CSI will be on you with a hanky and a pair of handcuffs. But still, corruption in the police force is as ubiquitous as ever. Somebody, somewhere, is currently being wronged. He/She is a victim of the intense human desire for power.

The endeavours of one Christine Collins, a wronged citizen, made sure that the police's power on the citizens were limited; they can no longer lock people up in a mental ward, without a very, very valid reason. Her need to find her son was great and through it she cataclysmally affected and changed the American Law.

Here's the most ironic fact of it all: She never did find her son.
All that work, all those years of searching, all that good that came out of her actions, all of it was for her son.
In a fair world, Justice is precise, swift and exact. In a fair world, Walter Collins would have been found. In a fair world, the universe/fate/god/spaghetti noodle, would have taken pity on the poor woman.

But we do not live in a fair world.

Christine Collins got the, what I call, poetically tragic ending. The perfect ending. The most true, most raw, most terrifying ending of all: a realistic ending.

Chills me to the bone, this.
Long live Art!
Good Morrow.