Rabid monkeys with fancy tools

  Now write, I tells myself. Devoid of ideas. Ever had that? A standstill in your life. You’ve got great friends, great supportive family, great interesting life. Yet, a goddamn standstill. Kundera, eat your heart out. This is my life. It’s never been lived before yet it’s at a standstill at its optimum. 21, for fuck’s sake. Time of my fucking life. And what am I doing? Nothing. Waiting. Always waiting. Fuck that. Stagnating. Same pool of friends. Same old shit. Why?

  Don’t know. Tell me, Kundera. Am I being weighed down or am I light? I would like a Tomas life, to meet those unpredictable women, to meet Sabina whom I don’t exactly approve of. To do all that. Alas, I live in

Malaysia

, where the event of dreams actually taking place is zero to none. Never really understood that term. Just use it. Definitely not the first to do that. Falls back to reality. The mask is torn off. Reality remains. Red hot chilli peppers rock my world. They ought to rock yours if you had my youth and insecurity.

  Which is another issue. Self-destructive behaviour. Cigarettes, alcohol, drugs and sex. Not that I do all that. I’ll admit to drinking. That I do at times. A lot of times. To stimulate myself into writing. At times like these. The sublime state of highness and hereness. When I write seeing double and think to myself the morning after, ‘Did I write this stuff?’

  All these issues. Connecting with the wrong people. Being condescending. Thinking. Thingking. I ought to write a masterpiece and kill myself at 40. Hang my tongue out and lolling, hoping for a Henry Miller or a J. D. Salinger. Why do I hook up with these illiterate Dan Brown lovers. Even the name itself abhores me.

  Opposites attract. Intellectual whores. So a man is good for sex while the other is good for the brains. What a paradox. Never believed in love. A romantic who does not believe in love. Tell me if you’re interested. Call you. Hubba hubba.

  I flatter myself. I’ve been called original, one of a kind many times before. I smile when I hear that. What compliments. See, there’s another me behind the corner. Just look and you’ll see.

  Forever’s a really scary word, if you think of it. Fuckin-A scary.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 4th, 2006 at 10:53 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.