On Here

It seems that throughout my life, I have been stuck in here-i-am-land. By here-i-am-land I mean, of course, where-other-people-have-decided-where-i-should-be-land. There is no need for me to be where I am, beyond the fact that here-i-am land is a halfway house to there-i-want-to-be-land.

Of course having the vicissitudes of my existence subject to the dictates of some unknown and unknowing body is something I resent greatly, my self-awareness and knowledge will not be curtailed by an empty belief that I am merely a pixel in the graphic, a splinter in the forest.

I have always needed to be here, in order to go there. Perhaps it is in my nature to convert my theres to heres, that I shall never, really, be there, always one step behind, always irked at being determined by someone else who was here, but wishing to be there.

On Dinner

The Story of My Life, was the title of dinner on Friday. My aunt's 50th birthday, so she felt inspired to throw a big bash for all her friends and relatives.

Dinner itself was uninspired, but the entertainment was fairly interesting. There was a magic act, lots of dressing up, some karaoke acts, a hilarious pseudo-samba thing, among others.

After dinner there was some dancing, very amusing to see all the uncles and aunties dancing vigorously, but one or two really were quite good. Eventually I was dragged in to dance as well, which was fairly mortifying, given that I'm not used to flailing my body in random directions. I did feel the attraction of taking up salsa again, but now that that euphoria has faded, I think I'll stick to the safe stuff.

On Royalty

Bow before the King.

Today I am inflamed with a new passion. I wish to run out into the jungles of South-East Asia and catch a snake. Specifically, I wish to catch a King Cobra.

While people seek their thrills jumping out of aeroplanes and off cliffs, I aim to search for mine in the remote regions of the globe. Why toy with death with so many safeguards at your disposal? Doff your chutes and cords and harnesses, and follow me, winding a way along the trail, sensing your quarry at every turn.

Grab the King by his tail and watch, transfixed, as he swirls around with a speed you can't even comprehend. Stand in awe of his majesty as he rises, regarding you, piercing you in amber gaze. The tongue flicks, smelling you, even as he looks you straight in the eye, and you quail in the face of regal death, trembling as his hollow hiss rattles from his being.

Careful, make one false move and death courses through your veins, do not doubt that you are powerless in the face of the King's inhuman strength, puissance, perception and agility. Beware as he travels in sinuous curls, over and around himself, for he could just as easily flow up the length of your arm, sinking sharp fangs into your delicate flesh.

Know then, that the merest gaze whispers mortality so calmly you'll never register it, until your diaphragm rebels and your nerves cease to be. Sink in silence, and in grace, before royalty.

I bow before the King, and retreat from his glory, satisfied in my accomplishment. Then, I'll head to Africa, and catch a Black Mamba.

On Words

I have always wondered why "phlegmatic" meant "unemotional".

Having spent the better part of today attempting to dislodge a very small and very stubborn speck of phlegm from my throat, I now know why. Displaying absolutely no emotion or temperament whatsoever, this ridiculous ball of colloidal substances simply refuses to budge.

I am decidedly un-phlegmatic now.

On Worlds

The world despairs, and I, I gaze on.

On Work

I loathe it, and love it.