Ya. So, in very, very cold response to what Kyra dares to remark, I would like to remind her and every single one of you that this blog is independent. It is its own sovereign nation, which cannot be ousted, bullied, cajoled, pushed, provoked, threatened, subliminally convinced, re-directed, steered by another hand or forced into doing anything it does not wish to do. Ditto for its owner.
You shall not have a post, to humor you, to gladden your heart, to reveal your secrets merely by speaking of its own, to be your comrade through dark times, to provide comforting words of hope and solace, or for anything whatsoever that you want, simply because you feel you can demand it.
(On an aside, try and read the italicized bit in a French accent. I find it gives more 'feel'. Also the rest of this.)
I refer to this. How dare you, Kyra, feel that you, who herself retires to the same old excuse of writer's block every month or so and does not write a post for weeks on end only to break the ridiculous abstinence with a silly little one-liner about how shtupid she feels, can actually come over here and ask me for another post? Just because you feel bored, and need me to supply you with wholesome food for thought, or a gay and amusing laugh, or just something you can return to over and over when you find yourself in times of trouble and Mother Mary doesnt come to you?
I refuse! I positively am outraged at your audacity! I shall not be your lap-puppy! No! I shall not! Tra la!
*stalks away, with cold dignity and unmatcheable grace in his gait, his visage, and oh everything he does*
*pregnant pause of about 5 seconds*
*door opens again slightly. appears just the upper half of a face, with raised eyebrow, the eye belonging to which looks carefully about the room. slowly enter the rest of a majestic figure*
I just did it again, didnt I? I think this could just be called a post. I wonder about myself sometimes, when I find time from pondering over the miseries of all the others, towards which my selfless, giving soul perenially directs me.
And I wonder, do I seek to please? To offer myself as whatever everyone wants? To make myself whoever you prefer at the drop of a hint? Unconsciously, as in? Dammit! Subconsciously, I mean? I did try to consciously avoid such tendencies of mine, but I think the germ just got back in with a different, cleverer disguise. It still operates. But I dont see it all the time.
I also wonder what I can do about the...subconscious...display, execution, usage, presentation, utilization, or is it a form of seepage of this damned thesaurus inside my head. Refer to paragraphs 1, 2, 4 and this damned one, for what I mean. Not that I'll bother with this one. Its a bit of fun. A dash of local colour, perhaps?
I dont even know what I'm rambling about, really. This is partly bloody just because you said you wanted a post. So here you are. Happy?
I saw Ocean's Twelve today. And it was confusing. I saw glaring loopholes, which could be either because I didnt get it, or it was a really bad movie. I dont think it was a bad movie, was it? In case its just me, let me forewarn you that only shows of sympathy for my tender, innocent mind are invited. You are asked to not be sarcastic and vampish about it.
In other news, there is more to be sorrowful about, yet. Yes, I know. It does seem like all the sorrows of the world are falling upon my head. Its...the iPod. It still doesnt work. Nothing seems to be working. Now the people, they say that the batteries need replacing. I'm almost welling up now. *he almost wells up*
Just like that, *clicks his fingers to show just like how*, they say the batteries need to be replaced. Just like that, *again*, they want to discard the old ones. Reader, I most humbly request you to join in me in observing a minute's silence for my deceased, faithful battery. It lived its time. It served well. It died a tragic, untimely death all too soon. We had some good times. It knew how to rock 'n' roll. May Led Zeppelin play it into the gates of Heaven.