Monday 14 December 2009

Of turning glances

Direction is such a relative concept, going one way or the other has more to do with thinking things through than letting your feet do all the work. And unfortunately, thinking takes time, willingness and resources, all of which you may be too tired to distribute for a measly choice of either/or. A quick rock/paper/scissors game of chance can do the trick just as well, we all know that. We call it spontaneity, intuition, quick thinking, this random on-the-spot decision which sometimes proves to be rightly efficient.

Moreover, direction requires coordinates and thus, coordination, that ellusive capacity to judge the width, height, volume, density and impact of your actions so as to calculate the consequences (or repercussions if the case may be... and it all too often is). Just going through life bestows upon us the responsibility of getting well-acquainted with mathematics. You know, 1+1=stay home today, a sort of personal horoscope that gives us predictions of what may/might happen if we get out of/on the wrong side of the bed this morning. 'I just know I'll have a rotten day today, I have this thing going on and then the meeting and heaven knows what else'. Yeah, just one of those days.

And because of the smart evolved primates we claim ourselves to be (here's a sobriquet for us, a bunch of Bubbles and this fits in quite well with the more post-modern part in us who mourns the loss of our creator - not that Michael Jackson was our creator, I'm not implying that... although come to think of it, the '80s have never been the same post-MJ and we all secretly wish we could do the Thriller dance at our wedding or at least make our puppet-guests do it to amuse us as we chuckle behind Chinese bamboo silk-embroidered fans all the while cursing our second-thoughtedness that persuaded us not to send the wigs to the dry-cleaners and now it itches so baaaaadly), according to some theories, we grant life to everything we touch... literally. And it's a curse, we're cousins twice removed of Midas. Which should make us all disgusted with the deprived inbreeding we've been proliferating and which would indeed account for most genetic accidents on this earth. Coming back to my recently sharpened point, we people tend to do this thing called synecdoche, a sort of pars pro toto I don't think we're in Kansas anymore. Whatever we touch comes into our possession and becomes an extension of us. Just keep your extensions to yourself would be my only advice. We invest in whatever we think/hope to be ours or whatever we desire. We invest time and daydreams, hopes and futuristic expectations into these extensions and feed them, extending them to the furthest reaches of impossibility, ending up living a life that is completely unreal, which disappoints us every moment, as it's perpetually confronted with what is.

So we set ourselves up for disappointment because we're not good at maths. Darn our lack of numerical skills and life of fantasy we prefer over grey fact-of-lifedness. Welcome to 'Statements on the mundane'...

Of all the things that extend from us to others, one of the most deadly weapons we possess is that furtive glance that can draw them in or crush the rooftop of our personalised Disneyworld. Careful when riding the rollercoaster of winks, peeps and ganders. I'm a victim of such eyeball mishaps. Then again, who isn't. Here's lookin' atchoo, kid!

Friday 11 December 2009

Permission to ramble

Relating to another post, I realized how dull a sitcommy (which btw reminds me of something else I found amusing and as this is a rant, I can stray from the - ironically enough - subject of the - mandatorily ironic - rant: in a comment of said beloved and treasured and cherished blogger's blog which has recently come back to life from the unliving, as it can't die so it could never be undead, it was just suspended from existence pretty much like supermodels whose lives become void of any meaning except for their jobs of presenting lingerie and skimpy clothing much like a dummy, the dumb kind, there was much amazement and awe at a suffixed noun come adjective that looked like a darling combination but struck confusing dabblings in the hearts and synapses of others; the word formation in question is 'femmy' and I must say I found it scrumptious... then again I got the meaning and punniness if any, I got it and kept it to myself, ha ha!) life I have. And it's about to be renewed for a new season, lest the main actor (actrice) of infinite fame (in her own universe) should suffer life-threatening events pertaining to her livelihood.

To be continued...
*stares pensively the other way - any other way but the one you're looking*