plop.

For the preservation of the author's dignity, i shall keep his/her identity hidden. The following is an extract from the story of his/her life. It describes a mundane incident , one that all of you will find yourselves in sooner or later, in an aesthetic light. Brace yourselves.



"The pot glistened and sparkled like the sky does on a cloud-less night, inviting and seemingly full of endearing experiences. for some, it spells an equal
amount of relaxation. so i sat, my naked thighs caressing the languid and unerringly coldporcelain (or tile i dunno). non-chalantly i grabbed my book and took the bookmark out, placing it somewhere at the beginning so i could easily call upon it when i was done with the reading. a moment later i embarked on this natural form of catharsis.

the smell hit my nose sharply, like when you step into a fishmarket in the middle of day, but i barely flinched - at 19 years of age i was all but used to smell and rarely did it discomfort me for more than a second. as i continued the excretion, time after time i would pull myself away from the book i was reading and just let my mind and body ease up, to enjoy this orgasm of sorts without any guilt associated with it. a much needed derivative from the consternation i had embedded myself in."

this was written by asfandyar khan btw, i was bullshitting about the anonymous crap: http://www.pkblogs.com/refnulf

amor fati.

love for fate.

(arrividerci must be said to the italians i fear, bonjour fifa!)

it had to be done, it had to be done.

Duder?

Today is my sisters birthday.

I love my sister. And her birthday.

I got her a slice of cake. For her birthday.

I wrote her this poem. On her birthday.

She wants me not to have..another birthday.

wah wah wah.

so this goes out to my crazy little ass munch sister. thank you for letting me chase you around with a stake knife, for letting me spray paint your barbie dolls, for allowing me to force you to clean my room using the "lets see how fast you can do it this time! break your record!" exuse, for getting me a glass of water whenever ive needed it most, for listening to me talk mindlessly for hours at a stretch, for making me laugh for HOURS about the way my hand hangs when im lazy or the way i sleep and look like a frog or the way i cackle(!). hahaha. youre the most intelligent, most strong person ive ever come across and i forget sometimes that youre the younger one! my retarded chiddler. i love you.

Pretty Dumb Question: Whats the difference between a psychiatrist and a psychologist? *embarrassed--and too lazy to google it*

insomnia (ii)

Who likes hip hop?

If you do, tell me this.

When the man says "put your hand in the air, like you just dont care" wouldnt a better sign of apathy be to not bother at all?

Thoughtful Question: Is the truth really out there? (on account of superfluous x-files viewing)

Okay rephrase that. If the universe is unfolding as it should, will there be some truths we'll just never know?

Like what REALLY happened to Elvis?

:D

insomnia

yes you guessed it! i cant sleep.

and collegeboard.com should burn in hell and yes, i know its a website, but it should, at the very least, burn in virtual hell or virtually burn in hell. potato, potAto.

holy crap, its 4:16! time for me to go watch some reverend on star world avow religious principles he could care less about!

Happy Birthday Bilal!

Let me share something with all of you. I call Bilal, Adrian. Why?

Once i decided to be real cute and call my little brother "broder". As i continued saying that, much to the exasperation of my sibling, i realised that broder sounded like brody. Brody. Adrian Brody. The Pianist.

Now I call Bilal, Adrian.

Obiter Dictum: Maryam is not the love of my life, contrary to what some text to the right of what youre reading right now may suggest. That was an attempt to make her feel better about herself.

Good day!

sceptical essays

"What would be the effect of a spread of rational scepticism? Human events spring from passions, which generate systems of attendant myths. Psycho-analysts have studied the individual manifestations of this process in lunatics, certified and uncertified. A man who has suffered some humiliation invents a theory that he is King of England and develops all kinds of ingenious explanations of the fact that he is not treated with the respect which his exalted position demands. In this case, his delusion is one with which his neighbours do not sympathise so they lock him up. But if, instead of asserting only his own greatness, he asserts the greatness of his nation or his class or his creed, he wins hosts of adherents and becomes a political or religious leader, even if, to the impartial outsider, his views seem just as absurd as those found in asylums. In this way a collective insanity grows up which follows laws very similar to those of individual insanity. Everyone knows that it is dangerous to dispute with a lunatic who thinks he is King of England; but as he is isolated, he can be overpowered. When a whole nation shares a delusion, its anger is of the same kind as that of an individual lunatic if its pretensions are disputed, but nothing short of war can compel it to submit to reason."