Someone used that line once. He was Greek. And it wasn't "post", it was "war". But you get the picture, this is going to be a very Pyrrhic post. Effort will be put into it to make it seem unique or at least more personal than any of the others, but give it a month and it'll disappear from thought, just as an unsaved Word document disappears from RAM once the document is saved and closed. Wow, that was the nerdiest analogy ever.
You know what, this is going to be more of a "Schrodinger post". There's no way of determining whether this post will be interesting until I'm done writing it. Only Science students interested in Quantum mechanics will understand. The rest of you, google search "Schrodinger's cat".
There's a reason why I don't blog about music. I once told Zeke that I don't care for music. I didn't mean that. What I meant was, music matters to people, just as God matters to people. Once we're gone, both music and God will be gone(the latter, I'm not sure, according to Neil Gaiman, a God dies once it's followers stop worshiping him). And I know why a lot of people blog about music. The thing is, I absolutely hate reading posts about music.
The fact that I blog based on what I would like to read when I visit a blog should logically lead to me focusing on just that. But I'm an advocate of change. Not the Obama kind(i'm afraid of him now). SO, in between paragraphs, I'm going to squeeze in a verse from Tool's Vicarious. I chose Tool, because... well, I'm really bad at describing music, so read this quote that best describes Tool and understand why I like 'em.
"The thinking person's metal band. Cerebral and visceral, soft and heavy, melodic and abrasive, tender and brutal, familiar and strange, western and eastern, beautiful and ugly, taut yet sprawling and epic, they are a tangle of contradictions"
Yeah, that made little sense. I think Fann listened to them once and got a headache(they're the ones who did that 11 minute long song with the Fibonacci numbers as part of the time signatures and syllables per line of lyric). They really are THAT awesome.
Eye on the TV
'cause tragedy thrills me
Whatever flavour
It happens to be like;
Killed by the husband
Drowned by the ocean
Shot by his own son
She used the poison in his tea
And kissed him goodbye
That's my kind of story
It's no fun 'til someone dies
I think this song best describes how I feel about the spammer who has been going around telling people which blogs he likes and which ones he'd like to see eat shit. I don't mean it in a "I'm so much cooler than everyone way". I just think that if the tables were turned, you'd all feel the same way too.
Don't look at me like
I am a monster
Frown out your one face
But with the other
Stare like a junkie
Into the TV
Stare like a zombie
While the mother
Holds her child
Watches him die
Hands to the sky crying
Why, oh why?
But enough about that. Just know, it ain't me. People assume all nihilistic atheists are evil and unfeeling. I have enough empathy to know how it feels to be spammed like that. And you can all sleep soundly knowing that the moment I become a total asshole, it'll be quick and painless.
'cause I need to watch things die
From a distance
Vicariously I, live while the whole world dies
You all need it too, don't lie
I was driving home from college today, when allofasudden, there was this police block. Oh, who am I kidding, it was there yesterday when I went home with Julian. Anywhossel, the police officer was waving for all the cars ahead of me to move along, when suddenly his hand was all up in my face.(why the fuck did I just talk like a nigger, fuck). So, naturally I panicked.
Why can't we just admit it?
Why can't we just admit it?
We won't give pause until the blood is flowing
Neither the brave nor bold
The writers of stories sold
We won't give pause until the blood is flowing
Instead of flooring it, like Batman would, I pulled up to the curb and waited with my window down. I always get shaky with cops. Especially when the only language they speak is Malay, because I can't do humor in Malay, I'd probably end up insulting them if I tried. He asked for my driver's license. I look like a terrorist in my license picture. Lucky I'm all clean now.
I need to watch things die
From a good safe distance
Vicariously I, live while the whole world dies
You all feel the same so
Why can't we just admit it?
It turns out my mom forgot to stick her new road tax on the windscreen. I called her up and and put the nice police officer on the phone. My mom broke part of her foot(that's why I was driving), and my dad wasn't around to come save my ass. I looked in my wallet while he was on the phone. In my head, it looked like he was negotiating how he was going to kill me.
Blood like rain come down
Drawn on grave and ground
He came back to the window and started telling me about the fine being 600 bucks. SIX HUNDRED BUCKS. And my mom was on the phone telling me that she couldn't find the road tax sticker, which would have cost another one thousand five hundred. The nice police officer kept saying he wanted to "help" me out.
Part vampire
Part warrior
Carnivore and voyeur
Stare at the transmittal
Sing to the death rattle
La, la, la, la, la, la, la-lie
I remembered the last time I was in a car with a police officer talking to the driver. The moment they mention help, or ask about your salary, it's time to think "bribe". Problem was, my wallet had RM20.... in small change(including 12 dollars worth of one ringgit notes, and a few coins). I gave my sweetest bat-smile and asked if 20 bucks was enough to transform from a nice police officer to a helpful police officer.
Credulous at best, your desire to believe in angels in the hearts of men.
Pull your head on out your hippy haze and give a listen.
Shouldn't have to say it all again.
The universe is hostile. so Impersonal. devour to survive.
So it is. So it's always been.
He turned to his partner in crime fighting(not surprised it wasn't Robin) and then turned back to me. I don't think he ever received a bribe with that many notes. There were so many, that I didn't bother to fold them up and hand 'em over discreetly. I just shoved it into his hand.
We all feed on tragedy
It's like blood to a vampire
I think this all goes to show that the system is broken. My mom paid her taxes. Cops were more interested in exploiting the forgetfulness of a broken-legged person than bringing murderers to justice.
Vicariously I, live while the whole world dies
Much better you than I
This city needs Batman.
No comments:
Post a Comment