Image by just.Luc via Flickr
Back at the desk trying to make sense of the daily stupor. Had lunch at a hotel called the “Dragon Roots” – courtesy of colleagues from the media who wanted to have a luncheon with collegues from the media. Was asked what was my hobby by myself? "Suffering" I thought. A very non-eventful day is where I’m getting at but looking at the digital clock on the PC, who knows? The earth might blast, like it did with meteors from the past. I might get enlightened, this very moment, and find everything funnier than Robin Williams on illegal medication. But that’s just a hunch and a hope. Reality is we haven’t been paid and I can’t blame nobody ‘cos I’m supposed to pay! And I'm as confused as Confucious as to the ethics and ethos of who pays me.
The rent, the grocery, the utilities and the li’l gadgets that make the world go round…or is it ding dong dong? Who cares? Life bores on relentlessly, without compassion or empathy or sympathy and anything wit a "thy"? Who needs all that emotional entanglement anyways? Not me. I’m done with the drama that follows the pajama.
The next theme is “Photo Journalism” – and I’m trying to impress people how a single photograph is worth a thousand words. Truth is I don’t wanna write this month, I’m back on the wagon, or is it off? – the writer’s block and this was my coup d’état. Plus there are social responsibilities I’ve taken up, like trying to help kids on the drug-block get interested in writing. Ironic! Isn’t it? But that’s life for you, especially if you are married. Me, I’m divorced and guess what? Life’s pretty much the same. But life I said, that’s life; with or without the wife. The Buddha had it spot on when he said, “forget your delusional miseries and sit on your arse”- or something to that effect.
I tried. Tried sitting on my arse. Nothing happens. Noting is supposed to happen be the idea is the idea or no idea. Your arse goes to sleep. The billions of cells in your body form a resistance movement and guerrilla tactical attacks corner, ciff and cop you from all over; more so from the inside. Covert, like the CIA or the FBI, Mossad and the KGB. It’s a secret affair and a messy one at that. James Bond is absent and that doesn't help.
Have you ever rambled? Gone random? Incognita? Ad hoc? That’s what I’m getting at.
It’s useless. It’s senseless. It’s a bloody waste and everyone wants to go cycle. Jolly good luck with that and if you're imbalanced, here’s my tricycle!