'Laughter gives us distance. It allows us to step back from an event, deal with it and then move on.' - B.Newhart
I have a network of friends and associates that are all very very sick puppies... Well at least thats what some of you might call them [and I'm not talking about their Porn collections either]. I'm talking about what they find amusing and the fact they send the emails to me and I find them amusing trarnishes me with this brush also.
The Web has us.We all get the jokes, the pictures, the movies and the Web Pages [couple of links on the right, youblewmeupyoubastard.com and Imf**kinterrified.com are just a couple]. This humour spreads quicker than the SOBIG virus could ever dream of, and there's a good school of thought that says these emails maybe the only vaild reason to go to work at all :-)
I recieved a movie recently, fantastic.Suicide car bomber drives up to a Cafe and attempts to cause carnage and devastation to its patrons.Alas he is thwarted, purely by chance he'd selected a VW Polo... 'Small But Tough', which contained the whole blast within the car; without shattering the windows!!! LOL It was very funny :-)
In the pub last night with a few good friends I had a master plan... It went along the lines of 'Now the IRA aren't doing anything surely we could put them on the Payroll to combat our Islamic Fundamentalists problem with there own special brand of Christianity'... It seemed vaguely amusing at the time [and seemingly very plausible after a large quantity of Guinness :-) ].
So what are we laughing at?
We're not laughing in the face of adversity, we're laughing to cover up the fact we're frightened. Frightened to think about our own fragile mortality and extremely frightened to think about suicide bombers who aren't frightened of losing theirs.
In a country which is now more 'NON-Faith' than 'Multi-Faith', laughter helps us agnostics [etc.], get around having to think about immortality, religion and that whole martyr thing. [What if they're right for Christs sake? ]. Its just a diversion tactic to save us from feeling insecure.
Or alternatively, maybe we're laughing purley becasue we can do nothing else...
Ciao Ciao Confused from Chichester I BLOG there4 I am
Someone told me recently I should write a book... [Got me thinking this, not a good idea, thinking that is, usually this action is accompanied by a lack of sleep with a complimentary migraine...]
After feeling temporarily and superficially intellectually lifted by what I viewed as a compliment, that evening [OK more 2am'ish], the truth finally struck me, I was annoyed at myself for not being learned enough to do it... nor not even been able to think of a anything I could write about!!!
But hey W.T.F.... I've got a CSE Grade 4 in English Language and Grade 5 Lit.!!! 'English', well sort of, more urban text slur mixed with trendy acronymic profanities...
Colleague... 'ur emails r all in fcukin Punjabi...' 'Mayb so, but I always put at a worthless 'Profound' quote wiv the sign off signature at the bottom, wot more do u want?' 'Translation of 'Vescere Bracisi Meis' please?' 'Ah thats Latin' 'Yeah?' 'Eat my shorts...'
'and Cogito Ergo Doleo?' 'that's Latin 2..' [Glazed look of indifference] 'I think therefore Im depressed...'
But wait, Ive read 'Lord of the Rings', I even made it to Chapter three of 'A Brief History of... everything u need to know to remove the knickers from Geeky Babes at Parties'... I must know something [Clutchin at straws here people... feel free to help me out? What does really happen to all that Dark Matter and Does it?].I must be able to write something...
So there it was, a sleepless Nurofen'd nite when further thoughts arose. Whats this Blog thingy all about then? It can't be that difficult [technically] surely, must be easy if some American airline stewardesses managed it... and manage to get herself sacked over its content, if the article on 'The Register' was even remotely correct'ish. [El.Reg. - Queen of the Skys]
[Switch computer on... find Web Dictionary]
BLOG Definition: 2 author an online diary or chronology of thoughts Etymology: 1999-2004; abbr. of Weblog
[Sounds a bit Trekie... 'Web Log Entry... Star Date 29th July At work... Mission... Need Codes for EDI EANs PDQ... Blag it... 'Me transmitte sursum caledoni']
But wait 'Chronology of thoughts' - now that does sound kool... :-) Further research required... Sleep now...
Am I asleep yet...?Fcuk it... Stop thinking...
Hang on a second... It's my Blog, do I want to even see others? Will doing so taint my perspective of wot a Blog should be? Would I subconsciously plagiarise ideas? [Or consciously come to think of it ;-)]. But how do I know what to write in my Blog? Does it matter? Should it be an attempt at humour? Should it be truthful? Should it be topical? [Can I tell Tony and George 'You Reap what you Sow' without drawing any attention from Langley?] Should I religiously post entries? Have I missed the Blogging boat? Who writes Blogs anyway? Are they just a vain attempts at an individual voice in our Mass Global world? Are they all frightened or failed writers? Does anyone ever read them? Should I bother? [Don't you just love the smell of indecision in the mornings?]
Sleep... Whisky and Nurofen cutting in, relief...
I awoke to enlightenment... In pursuit of a virtual Nirvana and to substitute the fact I couldnt, wouldnt or shouldnt ever write a book, not even anything as bad as JK Rowling [is this a good time to associate that whole Madonna 'whos Don McLean' B.S. here with Tolken and Rowling? Umm... OK for another post that one maybe], it was time to start writing a BLOG about my own thoughts and feelings on life, forget a format, no constraints, just say anything I want... just be free.. Just write... :-)
Well that was the plan... But alas... fcuk it... out of time... Got an appointment with some 'G' at the Nuclear Sub. followed by a kebab laced wiv special 'nitromors' sauce ;-) Yippee....
"I know why you're here. I know what you've been doing... why you hardly sleep, why you live alone, and why night after night, you sit by your computer...."
D: "Where is everybody, Hol?"
H: "They're dead, Dave."
D: "Who is?"
H: "Everybody, Dave."
D: "What, Captain Hollister?"
H: "Everybody's dead, Dave."
D: "What, Todhunter?"
H: "Everybody's dead, Dave."
D: "What, Selby?"
H: "They're all dead. Everybody's dead, Dave."
D: "Petersen isn't, is he?"
H: "Everybody is dead, Dave."
D: "Not Chen?"
H: "Gordon Bennett! Yes! Chen, everybody. Everybody's dead, Dave"
H: "He's dead, Dave. Everybody's dead. Everybody is dead, Dave!"
D: "Wait. Are you trying to tell me everybody's dead?"
H: "I wish I'd never let him out in the first place."
"I know most of you have been where I am tonight: the crash site of unrequited love. You've asked yourself, how did I get here? What was it about--was it her smile, Was it the way she crossed her legs, the turn of her ankle? The poignant vulnerability of her slender wrists? What are these elusive and ephemeral things that ignite passion in the human heart?...."
"That's an age-old question; it's perfect food for thought on a bright midsummer's night. Hey, you said it best, Will: "Love looks not with eyes but with the mind, And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind." Yeah....."
"Well one day I was at home threatening the kids when I looks out through the hole in the wall and sees this tank pull up and out gets one of Dinsdale's boys, so he comes in nice and friendly and says Dinsdale wants to have a word with me, so he chains me to the back of the tank and takes me for a scrape round to Dinsdale's place and Dinsdale's there in the conversation pit with Doug and Charles Paisley, the baby crusher, and two film producers and a man they called 'Kierkegaard', who just sat there biting the heads of whippets and Dinsdale says 'I hear you've been a naughty boy Clement' and he splits me nostrils open and saws me leg off and pulls me liver out and I tell him my name's not Clement and then... he loses his temper and nails me head to the floor..."
"If u hold back anything Ill kill ya. If u bend the truth or I think your bending the truth, Ill kill ya. If u forget anything Ill kill ya. In fact ur gonna have to work very hard to stay alive. Now do u understand everything Ive said? Because if u dont, Ill kill ya...."
"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. "
The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.
Love comes when manipulation stops. When you think more about the other person than about his or her reaction to you. When you dare to reveal yourself fully. When you dare to be vulnerable.