Have you ever felt the weight of all your failures bearing down upon you? The Duff thinks it feels like a boxer who'd been knocked down upon the canvas, and while the referee is busy ogling the Fixer's wife, the opponent takes a step closer and kicks the loser in the balls.
And twists his foot.
Its true. The Duff had another one of those days, where the shit hit the fan at a diarrhetic ballet of equal consistency. The pile up was unsightly and his stress rose with it in a direct, voluminous ratio. Moments of sanity and laughter punctuated by more issues that had to be handled, managed, solved, and worst of all, put off for a later date.
And he doesn't have much time left on his favourite island in the world. He's leaving in a week's time, once again for that other island down under, where the water in the bowl spins in an unsightly direction and has a knack of producing surprisingly gorgeous people with amazing liver function.
All the crap did give him more impetus to work his ass off in the gym. It also galvanised his resolve to shoot the shit outta all the zombies. Nothing like a double tap to the head from distance. Bloody zombies. What would we do without them?
He wishes he has been able to throw his boomerang though (nope, no euphemisms here. Literally a boomerang. And yes, it does return). He hasn't had any practice in a long time. Somehow he felt that throwing a stick would help calm him down, or at least act as an avenue to vent.
He'll find more violent hobbies in the future. He has it all planned out. After the next 3 months down under, he'd return to begin the rest of his life. And oh, what an act it will be.
Project Phoenix to continue, in spite of the shit.Perhaps he should take up boxing after all.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Invictus by William Ernest Henley (1875)
OUT of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my SOUL.
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my SOUL.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Full Slate
The Duff is once again in a funk. He'd been staying on the path for the last 2 months, gently treading on the straight and clear, bathed in the euphoria of accomplishments that boosted his ego and self worth to a level he hadn't experienced in many a season.
He'd finally escaped from sleepytown. He misses the flying, but not the stagnant, putrid feeling of imprisonment. His return was almost akin to the proverbial hero's welcome. His parents, recently retired, were an instant source of comfort, satisfaction and anchor. Finally, something tangible to focus upon, for his efforts to be geared towards. The want to provide a stellar lifestyle for them is a major reminder to push himself.
An intense study course back at work occupied the first month. Constant meet ups with old friends were enjoyable, although the feeling of being so far behind them started being a point of contention in his soul. More than ever, the desire to excel is reignited to phosphorescence.
Now on the cusp of the next stage of his training, an intense review of his path is sorely required. Being told by the company that he isn't cut out for the job was a major bummer and buzzkill. Should that dull his drive, or push him to work harder? He found the wind taken out of his solar sails, feeling an animosity to the company which he was just starting to build some loyalty towards.
It was however, a great reminder of his initial decision to walk down this path. A simple plan to gain more ammo. He realised that what he was doing all along was steering away from the path, or rather, walking parallel to the original plan. He was letting vital skills he had attained atrophy.
Therefore, he has initiated Project Phoenix. A return to THE PLAN. It will be a shock and awe tactic, a multi-pronged return to the perpetual beta, to the way of the Truth.
He'd finally escaped from sleepytown. He misses the flying, but not the stagnant, putrid feeling of imprisonment. His return was almost akin to the proverbial hero's welcome. His parents, recently retired, were an instant source of comfort, satisfaction and anchor. Finally, something tangible to focus upon, for his efforts to be geared towards. The want to provide a stellar lifestyle for them is a major reminder to push himself.
An intense study course back at work occupied the first month. Constant meet ups with old friends were enjoyable, although the feeling of being so far behind them started being a point of contention in his soul. More than ever, the desire to excel is reignited to phosphorescence.
Now on the cusp of the next stage of his training, an intense review of his path is sorely required. Being told by the company that he isn't cut out for the job was a major bummer and buzzkill. Should that dull his drive, or push him to work harder? He found the wind taken out of his solar sails, feeling an animosity to the company which he was just starting to build some loyalty towards.
It was however, a great reminder of his initial decision to walk down this path. A simple plan to gain more ammo. He realised that what he was doing all along was steering away from the path, or rather, walking parallel to the original plan. He was letting vital skills he had attained atrophy.
Therefore, he has initiated Project Phoenix. A return to THE PLAN. It will be a shock and awe tactic, a multi-pronged return to the perpetual beta, to the way of the Truth.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
14 Months
The Duff enters his fourteenth month of exile furtively, almost unknowingly. It crept up on him, clawing his back with its prong-shaped talons of hate, poisoning his soul with dejection and desolation. And thus he is nursing himself with a cup of warm green tea, soothing his itchy emphysemaic throat and firing up his fever. He thought he could make it through the tenure down under without a bout of sickness, but as many wise men had said before, "Shit Happens."
It must be the air on the ground, for he hasn't danced amongst the clouds for quite some days now. It also doesn't help that his room-mate had moved out, and in the process given new life to a year's worth of cosmic soot into the small room's aneurysmic circulation. It also followed a stretch of sloth where he stopped jogging for 4 days, and filled those 4 days with junk food, beer, sleep and facebook games. It was a perfect storm of sorts.
And all this free time stems from him waiting for his final flight test. A long queue, a smorgasboard of ridiculous reasons and of course the balmy weather that drifts away at the most inopportune time. His luck seems to have never clicked here. Could the magnetic difference with his yin and yang? Could his chinese compass needle have dipped?
The Duff tries to always look on the brighter side of things, that the glass is not half empty but full of dark matter *snigger*. He has finally resolved the issue of selling his car. While it worked perfectly before, now it practically drives itself. Again, a confluence of misfortune has perturbed him and his friends unendingly, with vehicle inspections (and exchanges with an obnoxious racist), trips to the mechanic(a friendly yet disappointingly careless operator) and a nail-scratching-on-blackboard level of experience when dealing with the new buyers. Never had The Duff met a more irritatingly penny-pinching excuse of a man. The whole experience left him with a tangy taste of bile in the mouth.
And thus, when he went out to the movies yesterday, he borrowed another car instead of using his (co-)owned mode of transport. This other car belonged to a friend, and it requires a push start everytime. While it started nicely twice during that evening, it refused to do so at a petrol station, the last start up that we required. The Duff, being the OX OF A MAN that he is volunteered to do the pushing instead. After 8 ATTEMPTS, his heart almost exploded. A better comedic act was never on display. 2 funny looking men pushing a car all around a petrol station. It finally started on a last ditch attempt. Boy was the Duff relieved, for his buttocks and thighs were aching like there's no tomorrow, and his heart was exploding in his chest. If he was to have flown the next day, he would surely have failed the sortie.
The Duff learnt today that his ex-boss has cancer and is closing down his company. While he was hardly in my good books, I found myself still managing to feel sad over this situation. As harsh an impression I had of him, no one should ever have to suffer this fate. The Duff wishes him all the best, and that his religious beliefs hold him over this predicament in as comfortable a manner as possible.
The Duff wonders if its this softness of heart that prevents him from leading the crowd. The apathy to the sometimes devious acts of others, the inability to crush others under his heel. While he understands that this is a large aspect of his personality, and he is rather comfortable, even satisfied at times, with his core values, is this empathy really worth having? Could the ultimate zen masters be the largest pussies?
What is the Truth?
Playlist: Cranberries, Damien Rice, Coldplay, Keane, Green Day
Movies: Closer, Public Enemies, My Sister's Keeper, Red Cliff
It must be the air on the ground, for he hasn't danced amongst the clouds for quite some days now. It also doesn't help that his room-mate had moved out, and in the process given new life to a year's worth of cosmic soot into the small room's aneurysmic circulation. It also followed a stretch of sloth where he stopped jogging for 4 days, and filled those 4 days with junk food, beer, sleep and facebook games. It was a perfect storm of sorts.
And all this free time stems from him waiting for his final flight test. A long queue, a smorgasboard of ridiculous reasons and of course the balmy weather that drifts away at the most inopportune time. His luck seems to have never clicked here. Could the magnetic difference with his yin and yang? Could his chinese compass needle have dipped?
The Duff tries to always look on the brighter side of things, that the glass is not half empty but full of dark matter *snigger*. He has finally resolved the issue of selling his car. While it worked perfectly before, now it practically drives itself. Again, a confluence of misfortune has perturbed him and his friends unendingly, with vehicle inspections (and exchanges with an obnoxious racist), trips to the mechanic(a friendly yet disappointingly careless operator) and a nail-scratching-on-blackboard level of experience when dealing with the new buyers. Never had The Duff met a more irritatingly penny-pinching excuse of a man. The whole experience left him with a tangy taste of bile in the mouth.
And thus, when he went out to the movies yesterday, he borrowed another car instead of using his (co-)owned mode of transport. This other car belonged to a friend, and it requires a push start everytime. While it started nicely twice during that evening, it refused to do so at a petrol station, the last start up that we required. The Duff, being the OX OF A MAN that he is volunteered to do the pushing instead. After 8 ATTEMPTS, his heart almost exploded. A better comedic act was never on display. 2 funny looking men pushing a car all around a petrol station. It finally started on a last ditch attempt. Boy was the Duff relieved, for his buttocks and thighs were aching like there's no tomorrow, and his heart was exploding in his chest. If he was to have flown the next day, he would surely have failed the sortie.
The Duff learnt today that his ex-boss has cancer and is closing down his company. While he was hardly in my good books, I found myself still managing to feel sad over this situation. As harsh an impression I had of him, no one should ever have to suffer this fate. The Duff wishes him all the best, and that his religious beliefs hold him over this predicament in as comfortable a manner as possible.
The Duff wonders if its this softness of heart that prevents him from leading the crowd. The apathy to the sometimes devious acts of others, the inability to crush others under his heel. While he understands that this is a large aspect of his personality, and he is rather comfortable, even satisfied at times, with his core values, is this empathy really worth having? Could the ultimate zen masters be the largest pussies?
What is the Truth?
Playlist: Cranberries, Damien Rice, Coldplay, Keane, Green Day
Movies: Closer, Public Enemies, My Sister's Keeper, Red Cliff
Saturday, July 11, 2009
3 to goooooooo
The Duff has hopefully only 3 more flights before the big flight home. He has thoroughly enjoyed the last 13 months in flight school. Making great friends, exercising more often than ever, eating lots and some flying on the side is a very simple endeavour.
Sure there were times when he felt depressed or stressed due to his flying, or from situations arising from home, but they were always managed. Therein lies his strength, his ability to cope and analyse complications, coming up with solutions.
Sadly this comes far short from making up for his faults. His laziness, his lack of social skills, his 2 left feet and short attention spans for starters. Once again, the immediate gratification and payoff from his other silly activities contribute to most of these failings. Gaming, sleeping, hiding in the room and reading brings him much joy, but perhaps depriving him of other forms.
Some say knowing is half the battle. Well, the Duff then has started the other half of the battle. He has come up with a plan for the rest of his life using gaming principles. Certainly sounds silly, but he is from the apex of the gaming generation, and while he surely isn't as hardcore as some gamers are, he is hoping that he at least has enough ideas to push these plans through. His method is simple.
Set long term goals. Hard ones. Goals that if he was on his death-bed, he can say out loud with pride that he had accomplished them. Then, set intermediate goals that would help him reach the end goals. And then another layer back, and another and so on. The first goal though, would be so simple, its almost laughable. However, the entire aim is to get the journey started. To take the first step. Finishing will come in due course.
And with any game, there should be contingencies, and parallel avenues which make the entire plan interesting. His original plans from his adolescence have failed miserably for they came without contingencies. He's hoping that this time round, there is a way out, or at least around, insurmountable odds. Like his upcoming flight test. Everything for now hinges on this path being followed through. His starting token.
Problem solving. Character improvement. Obtaining loot and experience.
Game on!
Sure there were times when he felt depressed or stressed due to his flying, or from situations arising from home, but they were always managed. Therein lies his strength, his ability to cope and analyse complications, coming up with solutions.
Sadly this comes far short from making up for his faults. His laziness, his lack of social skills, his 2 left feet and short attention spans for starters. Once again, the immediate gratification and payoff from his other silly activities contribute to most of these failings. Gaming, sleeping, hiding in the room and reading brings him much joy, but perhaps depriving him of other forms.
Some say knowing is half the battle. Well, the Duff then has started the other half of the battle. He has come up with a plan for the rest of his life using gaming principles. Certainly sounds silly, but he is from the apex of the gaming generation, and while he surely isn't as hardcore as some gamers are, he is hoping that he at least has enough ideas to push these plans through. His method is simple.
Set long term goals. Hard ones. Goals that if he was on his death-bed, he can say out loud with pride that he had accomplished them. Then, set intermediate goals that would help him reach the end goals. And then another layer back, and another and so on. The first goal though, would be so simple, its almost laughable. However, the entire aim is to get the journey started. To take the first step. Finishing will come in due course.
And with any game, there should be contingencies, and parallel avenues which make the entire plan interesting. His original plans from his adolescence have failed miserably for they came without contingencies. He's hoping that this time round, there is a way out, or at least around, insurmountable odds. Like his upcoming flight test. Everything for now hinges on this path being followed through. His starting token.
Problem solving. Character improvement. Obtaining loot and experience.
Game on!
Friday, July 03, 2009
Needsmoretvtoescapereality
So the Duff is almost done with his flight training. Almost being a subjective term. He's almost done with this part, but he has so much more to learn in the near future. However, the future seems ever more elusive as the terrible winter weather has arrived and he only gets to fly once a week. Seems he won't make it for his brother's birthday, and the great family event which is the Liverpool match back home. He's anxious to rediscover his family, and the new dynamics that exist now that his parents are back home and in retirement mode, with a fresh slant towards a new religion.
SO FUN!
For now he has nothing much to do other than focus on his preparations, having passed the last phase check and is now on the home stretch for the final flight test. He'd recently sold his car that he was sharing with 3 other buddies, and that sucks majorly for he is ever more shackled to the mental asylum that has been his prison for the last 13 months. The horrible weather doesn't allow him to keep up the mileage on his jogging shoes, and the gym is cold and strange without his usual gym-mates who had gone back before him.
And thus the escape that television programmes and books provide are so very vital for his sanity. He'd recently finished The Great Gatsby, the quintessential american novel apparently. He skipped the 50 page foreword for it was a deep analysis of the ENTIRE STORY, and went straight to the novel proper. It was approximately 150 pages long, of a bygone era and populated by fuckwits. He then returned to crawl through the foreword, and was vehemently reminded why he had dropped literature in high school. The way scholars analyse a piece of prose at times comes across as grasping at straws, straws with holes all along the shaft that makes sucking anything of substance out of it a royal pain in the butt, and utterly unsatisfying. Why did he pick the green pair of underpants? Because it matches the glistening grass in the country club that he is going to now to meet hte love of his life. Why the fuck must it be that? Why can't it be because he had a wet fart in the red one the day before and its in the washer due to the hot curry over lunch with the fiery redhead whom he's seeing on the side and is into BDSM?
Straws.
New shows he's catching. True Blood Season 2. Who would've known that the cute little girl from The Piano would one day flash her tits on HBO? Virtuality, a reality show staged on a space craft that is departing the solar system to the next nearest star that appears to be able to accomodate life on one of its planets, a new show from the collective geniuses behind the Battlestar Galactica relaunch. Things the duff thought of from catching this cliched yet fresh premise;
1. Every scientist on this mission should have their own fuck buddy/spouse.
2. Especially the highly stressed commander
3. Or better still, Scientists by day, Swingers by night.
4. And since the sun never rises in space..... HELL YEAH!!!!
5. All airlocks must be as fucking manual as fucking possible. Fuck's sakes people, how many have we lost from a fuckingly stupid airlock that blows unprotected scientists into the darkness of space.
6. And always not have an AI that seems suspicious.
7. The crew would be better served by having a prostitute than a shrink, no?
8. Wouldn't the multi-racial setting only create more avenues for conflict?
9. There should never be an old hard-ass geyser on board.
10. Or someone who had lost any children lately.
Playlist: Orbital, Dune, old Jap tunes from the 90s, lectures from The Teaching Company
Reads: Catch-22
Games followed closely on facebook: Mafia Wars, Airline Manager, Farmville, Mousehunt and Battlestations
SO FUN!
For now he has nothing much to do other than focus on his preparations, having passed the last phase check and is now on the home stretch for the final flight test. He'd recently sold his car that he was sharing with 3 other buddies, and that sucks majorly for he is ever more shackled to the mental asylum that has been his prison for the last 13 months. The horrible weather doesn't allow him to keep up the mileage on his jogging shoes, and the gym is cold and strange without his usual gym-mates who had gone back before him.
And thus the escape that television programmes and books provide are so very vital for his sanity. He'd recently finished The Great Gatsby, the quintessential american novel apparently. He skipped the 50 page foreword for it was a deep analysis of the ENTIRE STORY, and went straight to the novel proper. It was approximately 150 pages long, of a bygone era and populated by fuckwits. He then returned to crawl through the foreword, and was vehemently reminded why he had dropped literature in high school. The way scholars analyse a piece of prose at times comes across as grasping at straws, straws with holes all along the shaft that makes sucking anything of substance out of it a royal pain in the butt, and utterly unsatisfying. Why did he pick the green pair of underpants? Because it matches the glistening grass in the country club that he is going to now to meet hte love of his life. Why the fuck must it be that? Why can't it be because he had a wet fart in the red one the day before and its in the washer due to the hot curry over lunch with the fiery redhead whom he's seeing on the side and is into BDSM?
Straws.
New shows he's catching. True Blood Season 2. Who would've known that the cute little girl from The Piano would one day flash her tits on HBO? Virtuality, a reality show staged on a space craft that is departing the solar system to the next nearest star that appears to be able to accomodate life on one of its planets, a new show from the collective geniuses behind the Battlestar Galactica relaunch. Things the duff thought of from catching this cliched yet fresh premise;
1. Every scientist on this mission should have their own fuck buddy/spouse.
2. Especially the highly stressed commander
3. Or better still, Scientists by day, Swingers by night.
4. And since the sun never rises in space..... HELL YEAH!!!!
5. All airlocks must be as fucking manual as fucking possible. Fuck's sakes people, how many have we lost from a fuckingly stupid airlock that blows unprotected scientists into the darkness of space.
6. And always not have an AI that seems suspicious.
7. The crew would be better served by having a prostitute than a shrink, no?
8. Wouldn't the multi-racial setting only create more avenues for conflict?
9. There should never be an old hard-ass geyser on board.
10. Or someone who had lost any children lately.
Playlist: Orbital, Dune, old Jap tunes from the 90s, lectures from The Teaching Company
Reads: Catch-22
Games followed closely on facebook: Mafia Wars, Airline Manager, Farmville, Mousehunt and Battlestations
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Crack of Dawn
The Duff woke up early today. He'd gone to bed dead tired the night before, even though he hadn't been up to much before that.
At 5am, his eyes opened and his body didn't resist the call of consciousness. He felt refreshed, rejuvenated even. He enjoyed getting up early. This contradicts much as he had prided himself as not being a morning person. He had always struggled with school and lectures before 10. Or any time for that matter. Hmm....
He supposes that it might be that the accomodations are quiet at that hour. He had always enjoyed walking through his house when everyone else was asleep. He'd look at his dog snoozing under the moonlight in the backyard. Sometimes, the dog would be awake, and could somehow sense him in the kitchen. Much remains to be learnt on the acute senses of Man's Best Friend.
He had his usual breakfast of eggs (half boiled), cereal drowned in milk, and coffee. A mix of both the traditional and the modern, eastern and western. Eating alone in a quiet dining hall, reading more depressing news of the world on food encrusted week old newspapers, he was joined by 2 others who were older than most of the cohort here, being that they were previously from the Air Force. Perhaps only older fools leave the bed early.
He decided to walk through the open air quadrangle enroute to his room. He breathed in the fresh, crisp air, and was immediately brought to an earlier, simpler time when he was in the army, of mornings met with aching pains of sleeping in the great outdoors, squeezing the cold out of the joints, and yet feeling healthier with the clean, oxygen rich air that his lungs relished. Getting into his position while watching the fog rise out of the freshly minty dewey grass, he runs his tongue over the plaque coated teeth, awaiting to pour hot lead into the soft, weak flesh of his enemies. Surreal to say the least.
He cleaned up his room, made his bed and started preparing for his flight this evening. The weather spoke solemnly of the likelihood of going up for the sortie. Even with the wonderful morning, his nightmare continues. To alleviate his mood, he watches the last episode of the Tonight Show with Jay Leno. 17 years on a programme, 5 nights a week. What an industrious personality. No matter what his life is like, every night he would appear in front of a worldwide audience and bring laughter and cheers into many a living room. What a professional. And you thought women were good at faking it.
He ended the show with a talk of his legacy. It all stems from his crew of wonderfully loyal participants, from the cameramen to publicists, writers to editors. Most had stayed for all 17 years, and during that time, there were many unions amongst them. His legacy thus was all the children borne of these unions. The curtains rose to show them, all 68 of them. Wonderful. And so appropriate for the Duff truly thinks that all children are our legacy. Every one of them. And thats the undeniable Truth.
At 5am, his eyes opened and his body didn't resist the call of consciousness. He felt refreshed, rejuvenated even. He enjoyed getting up early. This contradicts much as he had prided himself as not being a morning person. He had always struggled with school and lectures before 10. Or any time for that matter. Hmm....
He supposes that it might be that the accomodations are quiet at that hour. He had always enjoyed walking through his house when everyone else was asleep. He'd look at his dog snoozing under the moonlight in the backyard. Sometimes, the dog would be awake, and could somehow sense him in the kitchen. Much remains to be learnt on the acute senses of Man's Best Friend.
He had his usual breakfast of eggs (half boiled), cereal drowned in milk, and coffee. A mix of both the traditional and the modern, eastern and western. Eating alone in a quiet dining hall, reading more depressing news of the world on food encrusted week old newspapers, he was joined by 2 others who were older than most of the cohort here, being that they were previously from the Air Force. Perhaps only older fools leave the bed early.
He decided to walk through the open air quadrangle enroute to his room. He breathed in the fresh, crisp air, and was immediately brought to an earlier, simpler time when he was in the army, of mornings met with aching pains of sleeping in the great outdoors, squeezing the cold out of the joints, and yet feeling healthier with the clean, oxygen rich air that his lungs relished. Getting into his position while watching the fog rise out of the freshly minty dewey grass, he runs his tongue over the plaque coated teeth, awaiting to pour hot lead into the soft, weak flesh of his enemies. Surreal to say the least.
He cleaned up his room, made his bed and started preparing for his flight this evening. The weather spoke solemnly of the likelihood of going up for the sortie. Even with the wonderful morning, his nightmare continues. To alleviate his mood, he watches the last episode of the Tonight Show with Jay Leno. 17 years on a programme, 5 nights a week. What an industrious personality. No matter what his life is like, every night he would appear in front of a worldwide audience and bring laughter and cheers into many a living room. What a professional. And you thought women were good at faking it.
He ended the show with a talk of his legacy. It all stems from his crew of wonderfully loyal participants, from the cameramen to publicists, writers to editors. Most had stayed for all 17 years, and during that time, there were many unions amongst them. His legacy thus was all the children borne of these unions. The curtains rose to show them, all 68 of them. Wonderful. And so appropriate for the Duff truly thinks that all children are our legacy. Every one of them. And thats the undeniable Truth.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
As The Wheel Turns
So the Duff is lying in bed at a supremely early hour. He's feeling a little under the weather, something he has the fortune of avoiding all year long in-spite of being in a new environment and with all the changes that accompanies such an exodus. Alas, all good steaks must come to an end, and his armour of invincibility shatters like the broken dreams of a crack whore.
He has been trying to ascertain the origins of his mild sickness. The usual reasons come to mind; the lack of sleep, an unhealthy diet, non-existent exercise and inclement weather. All the above though, doesn't exactly hold water. He's been sleeping at least 8 hours each day, or more, as he hasn't had much opportunity to fly of late and thus, he stays up till 4am each and every day, catching up on movies and such, waking up at noon to all manner of aches and pains that are associated with sloth. Diet is something out of his hands, as the nutritionist has taken an extended vacation. Junk food and instant noodles have made a more regular appearance in the menus, but never to the extend of being THIS detrimental. Fruits and vegetables were still ingested fastidiously. Exercise have been reduced, but not absent. A shitload of weather popped a cap on his schedule's ass, but he stayed out of it; however, it did prevent him from jogging his usual daily 10km;->
You are only as healthy as you feel. That has been a line constantly pounding in his head, for he has recently felt apathetic. An overall lack of luck has attributed to him not flying, and thus not progressing. To not feel overly upset over these proceedings, he has numbed himself to these facts, and instead let the fates decide. There is only so much he can do. And perhaps, this is whats causing him to be bed-bound by 9.45pm, an absurdly early hour for him.
The Duff has thus once again spiraled down into procrastination and dread. Instead of studying for his coming tests, which he views as a very distant inevitability, he watches lots of shows and reads quite a bit. Both at the movies and on his laptop, he has caught at least 20 movies in the last 2 weeks, and a multitude of tv programmes ranging from sitcoms to sci-fi. He has felt the magic of falling in love, the pure blandness of mindless violence, the beauties of the written word and the fascinating locales that they can conjure, and most of all, emotions that run the gamut of possibilities.
Another active waste of time are the games on facebook, which he has started delving fully into to while away the eons of hours. His current favourites are Hell's Kitchen, a multitasking and prioritizing-centric game that might just help him in his flying, Mafia Wars, for the sheer joy of character advancement and fortune building, and Chain Reaction, for the lovely tunes and colours. He knows he's like a kid, and he's loving every eon of it.
But all too soon, darkness will fall, but with it, the hope of light that comes with the dawn. The end is nigh, but to what end? At least some movement forward is better than being stuck in limbo. The Duff braves on, as he must. The alternatives are not to be entertained. He leaves with a line of Truth from the recesses of his sinful mind,
"You do what you have to do, so that you can do what you want to do."
He has been trying to ascertain the origins of his mild sickness. The usual reasons come to mind; the lack of sleep, an unhealthy diet, non-existent exercise and inclement weather. All the above though, doesn't exactly hold water. He's been sleeping at least 8 hours each day, or more, as he hasn't had much opportunity to fly of late and thus, he stays up till 4am each and every day, catching up on movies and such, waking up at noon to all manner of aches and pains that are associated with sloth. Diet is something out of his hands, as the nutritionist has taken an extended vacation. Junk food and instant noodles have made a more regular appearance in the menus, but never to the extend of being THIS detrimental. Fruits and vegetables were still ingested fastidiously. Exercise have been reduced, but not absent. A shitload of weather popped a cap on his schedule's ass, but he stayed out of it; however, it did prevent him from jogging his usual daily 10km;->
You are only as healthy as you feel. That has been a line constantly pounding in his head, for he has recently felt apathetic. An overall lack of luck has attributed to him not flying, and thus not progressing. To not feel overly upset over these proceedings, he has numbed himself to these facts, and instead let the fates decide. There is only so much he can do. And perhaps, this is whats causing him to be bed-bound by 9.45pm, an absurdly early hour for him.
The Duff has thus once again spiraled down into procrastination and dread. Instead of studying for his coming tests, which he views as a very distant inevitability, he watches lots of shows and reads quite a bit. Both at the movies and on his laptop, he has caught at least 20 movies in the last 2 weeks, and a multitude of tv programmes ranging from sitcoms to sci-fi. He has felt the magic of falling in love, the pure blandness of mindless violence, the beauties of the written word and the fascinating locales that they can conjure, and most of all, emotions that run the gamut of possibilities.
Another active waste of time are the games on facebook, which he has started delving fully into to while away the eons of hours. His current favourites are Hell's Kitchen, a multitasking and prioritizing-centric game that might just help him in his flying, Mafia Wars, for the sheer joy of character advancement and fortune building, and Chain Reaction, for the lovely tunes and colours. He knows he's like a kid, and he's loving every eon of it.
But all too soon, darkness will fall, but with it, the hope of light that comes with the dawn. The end is nigh, but to what end? At least some movement forward is better than being stuck in limbo. The Duff braves on, as he must. The alternatives are not to be entertained. He leaves with a line of Truth from the recesses of his sinful mind,
"You do what you have to do, so that you can do what you want to do."
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Have you Ever....
Have you ever been in the shower long enough with your thoughts wandering, only to wonder if you had already shampooed your hair? Then do it and realise that you had already done so?
Have you ever tried unrolling a sock from a new laundry wash, only to find that you are only rolling it onto itself, but you do not realise this until the sock is halfway into becoming a singularity?
Have you ever been in a situation where your stress levels are dissipating, but only for a few hours before more shit hits the fan, and you are so tired from the first dose of adrenaline washing off, that your limbs feel like dead weight, and yet your bones feel hollow, and you only wish that the next adrenaline rush would suffice to pull you through the next ordeal?
Have you ever been so hungry for so long that your stomach get bloated from the gases created in your digestive track as your acids work their way through the mucus and stomach lining? Hmmmm... villi.... (sounds like a new pasta)
Have you ever tried unrolling a sock from a new laundry wash, only to find that you are only rolling it onto itself, but you do not realise this until the sock is halfway into becoming a singularity?
Have you ever been in a situation where your stress levels are dissipating, but only for a few hours before more shit hits the fan, and you are so tired from the first dose of adrenaline washing off, that your limbs feel like dead weight, and yet your bones feel hollow, and you only wish that the next adrenaline rush would suffice to pull you through the next ordeal?
Have you ever been so hungry for so long that your stomach get bloated from the gases created in your digestive track as your acids work their way through the mucus and stomach lining? Hmmmm... villi.... (sounds like a new pasta)
Friday, May 01, 2009
Snikt-choo!
The Duff just got back from a screening of the first bullet fired from the Hollywood studios this eventful summer of thrills and spills. Wolverine has hit town, although he landed flat on his face.
Being the comic reading intellectual that he is, and an avid fan of the x-books no less, he is sure that this pathetic attempt to cash in on the world's favourite mutant has inevitably backfired, for there is no way Marvel would, or should, green-light a sequel to this expectedly disappointing origin story, unless its done by Abrams, Spielberg or Tarantino.
While wholely bastardizing canon is a part and parcel of adapting comic book material consisting of entire volumes spanning the works of creative minds unleashed over decades and compressing it all into a mere 120mins is absolutely understandable and commonplace enough to numb his senses and sensibilities, he is nevertheless appalled at how much they can squeeze onto the screen for the lousiest excuse of just having the character in the picture, and simultaneously stripping the character of all its richness and history. All for the merchandising, and the split second a fanboy's heart rate is increased by easter eggs. WTF.
He is ranting. He shall try to stop now. Sounds horrible now that it echoes back at him through the interwub.
Once again, the powers that be are sending out misdirection into the hearts and minds of the masses around the world. His bullshit-detection-meter is off the charts this time round. The lack of cynicism and curiousity quotient is amazing, and he just thinks that everyone buying into the nonsense perhaps deserves all the fear that is being shoved down his throat.
The recent outbreak of 2009 H5N1 virus for example, and its immense coverage in the media is astounding, as are the precautionary measures being taken, and at times suggested. The Duff thinks that it is a superb exercise in misdirecting attention away from more pressing matters like the economy. The statistics of this flu pandemic's possible effects, the outrage and panic that is aroused by papers, news programmes and web articles border on the mad. The irrationality of it all pisses him off. If it is lives they want to save, they are better served warning everyone to stay away from swimming pools, alcohol and staircases. If it is lining their coffers, Tamiflu it is.
Rant again. Fuck. FUCK!!!
The spew from his fatigued mind coupled with some all time favourite songs are causing him to become delirious. How could anybody give a flying fuck about what he's pissed at?
He should stop. Now.
Playlist: Freakonomics, Sarah MacLachlan, The Killers, Snow Patrol.
Reading List: The Badger, Nowergian Wood, A Sparrow Falls.
Surfing List: fmylife, 3quarksdaily, englishrussia.
Being the comic reading intellectual that he is, and an avid fan of the x-books no less, he is sure that this pathetic attempt to cash in on the world's favourite mutant has inevitably backfired, for there is no way Marvel would, or should, green-light a sequel to this expectedly disappointing origin story, unless its done by Abrams, Spielberg or Tarantino.
While wholely bastardizing canon is a part and parcel of adapting comic book material consisting of entire volumes spanning the works of creative minds unleashed over decades and compressing it all into a mere 120mins is absolutely understandable and commonplace enough to numb his senses and sensibilities, he is nevertheless appalled at how much they can squeeze onto the screen for the lousiest excuse of just having the character in the picture, and simultaneously stripping the character of all its richness and history. All for the merchandising, and the split second a fanboy's heart rate is increased by easter eggs. WTF.
He is ranting. He shall try to stop now. Sounds horrible now that it echoes back at him through the interwub.
Once again, the powers that be are sending out misdirection into the hearts and minds of the masses around the world. His bullshit-detection-meter is off the charts this time round. The lack of cynicism and curiousity quotient is amazing, and he just thinks that everyone buying into the nonsense perhaps deserves all the fear that is being shoved down his throat.
The recent outbreak of 2009 H5N1 virus for example, and its immense coverage in the media is astounding, as are the precautionary measures being taken, and at times suggested. The Duff thinks that it is a superb exercise in misdirecting attention away from more pressing matters like the economy. The statistics of this flu pandemic's possible effects, the outrage and panic that is aroused by papers, news programmes and web articles border on the mad. The irrationality of it all pisses him off. If it is lives they want to save, they are better served warning everyone to stay away from swimming pools, alcohol and staircases. If it is lining their coffers, Tamiflu it is.
Rant again. Fuck. FUCK!!!
The spew from his fatigued mind coupled with some all time favourite songs are causing him to become delirious. How could anybody give a flying fuck about what he's pissed at?
He should stop. Now.
Playlist: Freakonomics, Sarah MacLachlan, The Killers, Snow Patrol.
Reading List: The Badger, Nowergian Wood, A Sparrow Falls.
Surfing List: fmylife, 3quarksdaily, englishrussia.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Tender is the Night
Tonight the Duff enjoys a quiet evening alone, immersed in his solitude, free to roam wherever his moods and minds take him, recapping the near history and the far flung truths that travails his life.
Over the weekend, The Duff took a long enjoyable drive in his dependable and 15 year old Ford Laser to a tip of the Australian continent where a lazy town called Augusta lies and a prominent lighthouse is erected. It is where the South Ocean of the Antarctic meets the Indian Ocean, according to the Australian authorities, although the world community sees that line forming much further south. The drive down was fun for him. Covering the distances, absorbing the scenery and making the pit-stop at Busselton which hosts the longest wooden jetty in the southern hemisphere (almost 2km long, but closed due to instability, only allowing 200m to be open to the public).
He slept most of the way back, recovering from the previous night of only 3 hours sleep. His minimum is usually 4. Enroute, his little group encountered some bumps in the itinerary when the caves they had wanted to visit were fully booked. It was one of the busiest weekends in the year for the continent. They settled for a cave that was much less impressive, and it left a bitter taste in the Duff's mouth for he was, in a manner, the tour guide. The only excuse he had was that the drive was planned just 9 hours prior to departure. Even then, failure is a jagged pill to swallow.
Nevertheless, it was a trip worth taking, as are most trips. Even if you don't manage to accomplish all your goals, it is in the trying, in the journey, in the shared camaraderie, that makes it worth the while. The photos, the stories, the laughter and even the anguish, is what makes trips like these, and in fact the longer journey that is life, magical.
Another journey that The Duff had started recently was that of flying a new aircraft. The Beechcraft Baron 58. Twin engine, 600 HP, 6 seater and overall monster of a machine. Like with most new things, it takes a little getting used to. The usual fumbling along, the new mistakes that lessons would and have been learnt from, is all part of the process of growth. As his body remembers how to handle the great beast, his aptitude increases. He began to enjoy and appreciate the plane, which in the beginning he felt much apprehension for. It would most likely be the hardest aircraft he'd ever fly, and thus he relishes every flight and every challenge, facing it head-on like a running back into the defensive line. ILS in assymetric flight. Supposedly the holy grail of flight.
And a new page turns. The Duff recently had his 30th birthday come and go. Not so much for celebration, albeit a milestone of sorts. He lamented that he was in an environment not exactly conducive for celebrations, being without family. However, he did have his newest family around him, his comrade in arms, his fellow course mates. Brothers at war against the forces that keep us grounded. The Duff has drawn many parallels with this experience and the one he had in the army. Approximately the same period of time, the same shared experiences in terms of isolation and challenge. The same sharing of stories and creation of laughter. Friendships that last a lifetime. Even if they do not meet up often thereafter, there is that immediate sense of familiarity and the ease of which conversations settle into the old comfortable ways is astounding.
As with most new pages in the book that is his life's journey, there is always a summary of reflections and self-assessments, and a list of new things he wishes to see improved upon in his life. He constantly wonder when Life would begin. One of his greatest flaws, for he seldom lives in the Now. He pines for the past and dreams of a better future. His favourite line of late," No time like the present. No greater present like Time."
Ain't that the truth.
Over the weekend, The Duff took a long enjoyable drive in his dependable and 15 year old Ford Laser to a tip of the Australian continent where a lazy town called Augusta lies and a prominent lighthouse is erected. It is where the South Ocean of the Antarctic meets the Indian Ocean, according to the Australian authorities, although the world community sees that line forming much further south. The drive down was fun for him. Covering the distances, absorbing the scenery and making the pit-stop at Busselton which hosts the longest wooden jetty in the southern hemisphere (almost 2km long, but closed due to instability, only allowing 200m to be open to the public).
He slept most of the way back, recovering from the previous night of only 3 hours sleep. His minimum is usually 4. Enroute, his little group encountered some bumps in the itinerary when the caves they had wanted to visit were fully booked. It was one of the busiest weekends in the year for the continent. They settled for a cave that was much less impressive, and it left a bitter taste in the Duff's mouth for he was, in a manner, the tour guide. The only excuse he had was that the drive was planned just 9 hours prior to departure. Even then, failure is a jagged pill to swallow.
Nevertheless, it was a trip worth taking, as are most trips. Even if you don't manage to accomplish all your goals, it is in the trying, in the journey, in the shared camaraderie, that makes it worth the while. The photos, the stories, the laughter and even the anguish, is what makes trips like these, and in fact the longer journey that is life, magical.
Another journey that The Duff had started recently was that of flying a new aircraft. The Beechcraft Baron 58. Twin engine, 600 HP, 6 seater and overall monster of a machine. Like with most new things, it takes a little getting used to. The usual fumbling along, the new mistakes that lessons would and have been learnt from, is all part of the process of growth. As his body remembers how to handle the great beast, his aptitude increases. He began to enjoy and appreciate the plane, which in the beginning he felt much apprehension for. It would most likely be the hardest aircraft he'd ever fly, and thus he relishes every flight and every challenge, facing it head-on like a running back into the defensive line. ILS in assymetric flight. Supposedly the holy grail of flight.
And a new page turns. The Duff recently had his 30th birthday come and go. Not so much for celebration, albeit a milestone of sorts. He lamented that he was in an environment not exactly conducive for celebrations, being without family. However, he did have his newest family around him, his comrade in arms, his fellow course mates. Brothers at war against the forces that keep us grounded. The Duff has drawn many parallels with this experience and the one he had in the army. Approximately the same period of time, the same shared experiences in terms of isolation and challenge. The same sharing of stories and creation of laughter. Friendships that last a lifetime. Even if they do not meet up often thereafter, there is that immediate sense of familiarity and the ease of which conversations settle into the old comfortable ways is astounding.
As with most new pages in the book that is his life's journey, there is always a summary of reflections and self-assessments, and a list of new things he wishes to see improved upon in his life. He constantly wonder when Life would begin. One of his greatest flaws, for he seldom lives in the Now. He pines for the past and dreams of a better future. His favourite line of late," No time like the present. No greater present like Time."
Ain't that the truth.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Now with Explosive Chest Action!
The Duff is having one of those days where his heart is beating double quick, and a pressure seems to be building ever so slightly as the hours pass. It usually culminates in a hyper-adrenalised flight but it didn't happen today. There was much to be desired, and he's so pissed.
Much could be blamed upon his unpreparedness. Some could be heaped upon the fact that he hadn't flown in 9 days, and that the simulator to practice on has been broken. A relic from the 80s with temperaments to match. It also doesn't help that his check flight for this phase is approaching. Stress you might say, is getting to the duff, albeit still in manageable amounts.
And strangely when this happens, its like the floodgates opening upon an unsuspecting dutch city. All manner of insidious thoughts erupt in his forebrain. All the insecurities, all his frustrations, all his negativity comes crashing down like a house of cards. Neuroses in its element.
He tries to overcome this, with the left over adrenaline allowing him to keep his energy up, behaving like a fool amongst friends, acting like an animal in the gym, a force to be reckoned with in an arena, a maniac on his blog posting....
He tried to vent it off. He had wanted to run in the evening, to sweat it all out, to exhaust himself physically and mentally, and perhaps emotionally too. But he got sidetracked. He wished to play a round of squash, to smash the putty looking ball into a forgiving wall, but his schedule denies him thus. His normal escapades into foods have been derailed by a new plan to get back into shape, and to shed 2kg at least before returning home. He tried the rowing machine in the gym to no avail. It was hopeless.
And now his heart is still racing. He needs a punching bag. He needs a fast drive down a very lonely highway. He needs satisfaction, immediate, dirty and sinful. For now, he listens to the soundtrack to Friday Night Lights. A medly of soft electical guitars and other instruments in the background. A collection of waves that always manages to sooth his passionate soul.
An Aries on Fire. Get out of his way.
Much could be blamed upon his unpreparedness. Some could be heaped upon the fact that he hadn't flown in 9 days, and that the simulator to practice on has been broken. A relic from the 80s with temperaments to match. It also doesn't help that his check flight for this phase is approaching. Stress you might say, is getting to the duff, albeit still in manageable amounts.
And strangely when this happens, its like the floodgates opening upon an unsuspecting dutch city. All manner of insidious thoughts erupt in his forebrain. All the insecurities, all his frustrations, all his negativity comes crashing down like a house of cards. Neuroses in its element.
He tries to overcome this, with the left over adrenaline allowing him to keep his energy up, behaving like a fool amongst friends, acting like an animal in the gym, a force to be reckoned with in an arena, a maniac on his blog posting....
He tried to vent it off. He had wanted to run in the evening, to sweat it all out, to exhaust himself physically and mentally, and perhaps emotionally too. But he got sidetracked. He wished to play a round of squash, to smash the putty looking ball into a forgiving wall, but his schedule denies him thus. His normal escapades into foods have been derailed by a new plan to get back into shape, and to shed 2kg at least before returning home. He tried the rowing machine in the gym to no avail. It was hopeless.
And now his heart is still racing. He needs a punching bag. He needs a fast drive down a very lonely highway. He needs satisfaction, immediate, dirty and sinful. For now, he listens to the soundtrack to Friday Night Lights. A medly of soft electical guitars and other instruments in the background. A collection of waves that always manages to sooth his passionate soul.
An Aries on Fire. Get out of his way.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
You Know You Have....
You Know You Have spent too much time on the computer when a blister starts forming on the tip of your index finger at 5 in the morning due to the incessant friction against the scroll wheel on the mouse.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Time Travelling Through The Tempo
It is 4am. The Duff had gone to bed at 12.30am. He'd been tossing and turning till now, and he is slightly pissed.
He hasn't had this bout of sleeplessness before in this new habitat. He had always managed to go to sleep rather easily, in spite of his activities just before hitting the sack. It is rather odd, he feels, that he should experience this now. The coffee and orange he took just before may have added to this, or the large gulps of water just before pulling the covers over his shoulders. It is doubly weird given that he had a rather eventful and stressful day, with a full 4 hours of flying in rather difficult conditions. Another reason may be a gnawing ache in his thighs, knees, ankles and feet. Its as if he was having some Periodic cramps.
But the most likely reason, deduced by his own brutal honesty on all his failures, is that he was time travelling.
"What the fuck?" you may say.
He does this pretty easily, and in recent times, within close intervals of each session. His tool of travel? MUSIC.
A choice selection of tunes easily brings him back to the past. He has made many connections over the years, with his highly sensual nature, to specific experiences and entire swaths of his life to specific sounds, smells, textures and tastes. As such, certain songs would instantly reignite emotions felt during that time.
Perhaps coinciding with his "period", he is more emotional than usual, and thus extrememly contemplative. This is a mindset highly detrimental to getting into a sleeping state. His mind was charged up with images, sights, sounds, memories both pleasant and painful. A squall of feelings bursting forth and crashing upon one another. Hours pass in an instant between short delusions, mayhaps shallow REM sleep.
He was catapulted through times of growth and exploration.
Falling in love.
The first time.
Unrequited.
The deep yearning for acceptance and reciprocation.
Philisophical debates and revelations with a JC buddy.
The excruciating pain of studying.
The adrenaline of the night before the first paper.
Wanton freedom of responsibilities while serving the nation.
The second time.
Writing notes in the corner of a dimly lit cafe, listening to songs sung live.
Karaoke sessions where he never uttered a tune.
But ate lots of snacks and fruits.
Hurting loved ones.
And the general greying of his world.
Ah, a sum of his broken parts. His undeniable TRUTH.
How he enjoys a good trip backwards. Once more, with feeling~!
He hasn't had this bout of sleeplessness before in this new habitat. He had always managed to go to sleep rather easily, in spite of his activities just before hitting the sack. It is rather odd, he feels, that he should experience this now. The coffee and orange he took just before may have added to this, or the large gulps of water just before pulling the covers over his shoulders. It is doubly weird given that he had a rather eventful and stressful day, with a full 4 hours of flying in rather difficult conditions. Another reason may be a gnawing ache in his thighs, knees, ankles and feet. Its as if he was having some Periodic cramps.
But the most likely reason, deduced by his own brutal honesty on all his failures, is that he was time travelling.
"What the fuck?" you may say.
He does this pretty easily, and in recent times, within close intervals of each session. His tool of travel? MUSIC.
A choice selection of tunes easily brings him back to the past. He has made many connections over the years, with his highly sensual nature, to specific experiences and entire swaths of his life to specific sounds, smells, textures and tastes. As such, certain songs would instantly reignite emotions felt during that time.
Perhaps coinciding with his "period", he is more emotional than usual, and thus extrememly contemplative. This is a mindset highly detrimental to getting into a sleeping state. His mind was charged up with images, sights, sounds, memories both pleasant and painful. A squall of feelings bursting forth and crashing upon one another. Hours pass in an instant between short delusions, mayhaps shallow REM sleep.
He was catapulted through times of growth and exploration.
Falling in love.
The first time.
Unrequited.
The deep yearning for acceptance and reciprocation.
Philisophical debates and revelations with a JC buddy.
The excruciating pain of studying.
The adrenaline of the night before the first paper.
Wanton freedom of responsibilities while serving the nation.
The second time.
Writing notes in the corner of a dimly lit cafe, listening to songs sung live.
Karaoke sessions where he never uttered a tune.
But ate lots of snacks and fruits.
Hurting loved ones.
And the general greying of his world.
Ah, a sum of his broken parts. His undeniable TRUTH.
How he enjoys a good trip backwards. Once more, with feeling~!
Friday, February 13, 2009
25 Random Things About The Duff
This 25 Random things thingamy has been circulating around the facebook quadrant of the net for awhile, and the duff had been sent one by his platoon mate. According to the rules, he's supposed to write up his own list of 25 random things about himself, may it be habits, likes, dislikes and deep dark secrets. Not only that, but the nature of the post (using the most un-userfriendly interface Notes) requires him to not only make it as honest as possible, but also spicey, interesting and entertaining. Very much the oxymoron, one might say.
Not really that different from myself blogging about the duff, but different in the sense that its a declaration of one's personality and uniqueness (and also, as unique as the next person, like snowflakes). Some of his friends have posted it like a Want Ad in the Singles Dating section, like a meme on ME. Some, just another list to bitch about whats wrong with the world.
The duff tried to accomplish the task, but he found himself not being able to just affix 25 items to the list. He prides himself in knowing what he's like, and what he does on a regular basis seems too trivial to write about. He also tries to not live his life with secrets and thus, there are not that many to OUT himself with. After a week, he gave up.
It may also be due to his current situation. He is not in the most conducive of environments for creative writing. His work and non-working hours have merged into a blur, and in such a predicament, energy and fun juice just gets mixed in and gulped into the thirsty sand-dunes of LifeSucks.
This also explains the fucking coupla months of non-posts here.
What would be interesting would be friends posting their own opinions of you. A no-holds barred, "be honest with me for my sake" kind of affair. A constructive criticism feedback forum with no(t many) repercussions. Which may turn out to be a shoe-throwing press conference, depending on how you've been treating others your whole life.
Wouldn't that be cool? Wouldn't that be awesome? Wouldn't that be The Truth?!
Not really that different from myself blogging about the duff, but different in the sense that its a declaration of one's personality and uniqueness (and also, as unique as the next person, like snowflakes). Some of his friends have posted it like a Want Ad in the Singles Dating section, like a meme on ME. Some, just another list to bitch about whats wrong with the world.
The duff tried to accomplish the task, but he found himself not being able to just affix 25 items to the list. He prides himself in knowing what he's like, and what he does on a regular basis seems too trivial to write about. He also tries to not live his life with secrets and thus, there are not that many to OUT himself with. After a week, he gave up.
It may also be due to his current situation. He is not in the most conducive of environments for creative writing. His work and non-working hours have merged into a blur, and in such a predicament, energy and fun juice just gets mixed in and gulped into the thirsty sand-dunes of LifeSucks.
This also explains the fucking coupla months of non-posts here.
What would be interesting would be friends posting their own opinions of you. A no-holds barred, "be honest with me for my sake" kind of affair. A constructive criticism feedback forum with no(t many) repercussions. Which may turn out to be a shoe-throwing press conference, depending on how you've been treating others your whole life.
Wouldn't that be cool? Wouldn't that be awesome? Wouldn't that be The Truth?!
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