Modern Poetry

I always make fun of people who make poetry, even though I write myself as well. Why I do that? Because whoever thinks they are so cool to do something so hipstery, are usually very bad at it. Here is an example of such a disgusting piece of “poetry”:

I love you and I hate you
Can’t you see I’m bleeding?
I cut myself for you
I hate you but I love you
This is an eternity
For us both
Death

My poor eyes are bleeding too…

Just because you write random words on a paper it doesn’t make it poetry.

Pardon my rant. Santa out.

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Time, boredom, swearing… The greatest conspiracy of it all!

Time needs to stop for a moment and rethink of what it’s doing wrong: it’s making me bored.

Well, not just me, but everyone else upon the surface of this little, miserable planet we call Earth. Most of the time, time passes with us just sitting around doing nothing. And thus, without anything better to do, we create words. And the first word we have crafted when in this state is ‘bore’, ‘boredom’, ‘boring’, etc. And now we have such dreadful words in our dictionaries. But if time knew what she was doing, she’d fast forward these never-ending moments. We’d be living our lives with two couples of words less, but think of what joy that would be!

We’d never say “I’m bored” any more. And bore… what a distasteful word that is. It’s such a badly crafted word that it could also pass for a swear word; “You stupid bore!” “I boring hate it in here!” “I hope you bore to death, you little boring bored bore!”

Point is, I’m bored being bored. Unfortunately, we have to have boring times, or else we’d get bored from doing stuff as well. Imagine a world where every little moment of your life is filled with something exciting. And someone calls you “Hey, John, how are you?” You reply “I’m a little bored, actually.” “Oh no! Why so?” asks the caller. “Well,” you reply, “I just jumped off of an aeroplane. I’m falling right now.” “But that’s… exciting!” exclaims the friend. “Meh,” is your answer, “the problem is that the parachute won’t open…” “Oh, BORING!

 

Those who know me, know very well I tend to talk to myself. With that in mind, I really hate myself when I start thinking or writing or saying or blogging something, and then I give myself the counter-arguments. I hate it when I have this train of thought in place and then I drift off and turn it around and ruin everything. Alas, Now my mind is changed; boredom (and the word bore in general) must exist (even if it sounds like a swear, something like whore).

 

I shall start using the word “bore” as a swear word, and see how that will make me giggle inappropriately in any given circumstance. “Did I bore you? I think I did!”

 

That’s all, imaginary folks. Santa out.

 

P.S: I need to go to the vet. Not for me, for my dog, Jessie. She needs to see why I don’t respond to her commands. She doesn’t know I’m just lazy.

“Get out of me,” screams Mr Bed.

“But I don’t want to,” I reply.

“But you have to,” I hear the Mrs Toilet saying, “you’re about to pee your pants.”

“Make some coffee now!” the Miss Coffee Machine commands.

“Come shower, you stink,” says Lady Shower (or my mother; they have the same voice).

“Aren’t you hungry? Cook now!” the Sir Oven repeats on and on.

“New message! New message! Check me!” Mr Telephone shrieks.

“Change your clothes, for god sake!” Duchess Cupboard shakes her head.

* * *

And this is how I wake up every day.

 

Yes, I talk to inanimate objects. And they talk back.

Fine, they do all the talking, I just listen, nod, and never interrupt.

 

Burn.

Yours, Santa.

On death and dying…

Have you ever wondered how people would react if you died this instant? Of course you have! Okay, let’s confess it, it’s a little macabre, but mostly egotistical. We, human beings, are attention whores.

In all seriousness though, I don’t want a grave; I want a mausoleum. A huge angel statue standing on top of it. People can see it from miles away. Aliens can see it from outer space. It will be the First Wonder of the new era, AAB (After Awesome Blogging).

Before I delve into death and dying and all that fun, let’s talk about how much of a narcissist I am. Which is zero. Sure, I count the years BAB and AAB, but is it truly bad? I’ll tell you, no! This blog is awesome, all my imaginary Awedience can tell you that. Even Samuel L. Jackson said so about my blogging skills in an imaginary -yet awesome- film he made. He also tweeted it. Nicholas Cage retweeted it. I rest my case.

So, this is 1 AAB and welcome to the new age. If you want you children born in this year to prosper, you must indeed name them after the new era’s fashion: Killing, Smokes, Awesome, Awerawera, Awerawera, Rawebert, Awendrey, Haweratio. The mascot and saint of this new era is Saint Nichawelas, or else known as Santa Clawes. (You can all call me Santa from now on).

Do you want to baptise you kid with these cool Awesome names? We offer services in several cities around the world, such as

New Yawerk City, New Yawerk

Lawes Angeles, Califawernia

Chicagawe,Illinaweis

Awestin,Texas

Cawelumbus, Awehiawe

Lawendon, United Kindawem

Moscawe,Russia

Raweme,Italy

Barcelawena, Spain

Lyawen, France

Colawegne, Germany

Tawekyawe, Japan

Haweng Kaweng, China

Sawel, South Kaweria

Manadawe, Indawenesia

Gaweld Cawest, Awestralia

Aweckland, New Zealand

 

Back to death and dying and all the fun that idea holds… Imagine you have died and all your loved ones are surrounding your decaying corpse. Well, that must satisfy you. Only if you’re someone from middle class or pretty broke, though. Or if you’re a slave. If you’re some rich newly died shit? Oh, it must hurt to see every other scum of your family that you hadn’t seen in years fighting over the bucks you’re leaving behind. Unless, of course, you’re Patrick Swayze; everyone loves Patrick Swayze.

But what happens when no one’s there? Broke or not, that breaks your little aethereal heart. Or what if they’re all there and having a party? Well, if you were a wild partygoer, then it’s all good, they’re doing it in your dear memory; but what if you were a simple workaholic employee at a bank that never lent anything but fake smiles at work, real frowns at home, and all that with a big fat sleek interest? You’d feel as a wallflower at your own dying party, wouldn’t you?

We all expect great things in our lives and try to put off the idea of dying. But embrace it, because you never know how Dow Jones might go, or when your husband will cheat on you, but you sure know you’ll die some day. So start making friends, making amends… Start loving again, even if your heart breaks. Live, because life could be either long or short. Have a little bit more fun, smile a little more, wear a pink tie at work, dance in the rain. Say “I’m sorry” when you have to, because we all want to see that cold grave surrounded by people for the right reasons. And don’t do stupid stuff because YOLO! Do the right stuff because YOLO (unless you’re Buddhist).

And, above all, don’t forget to change your name to Awesome. I also have a prospectus on changing your religion to Awesomism. It’s Awesome.

Kthnxbai.

The most awesome second blog ever

So, I read at how-to’s that I must post at a regular basis, say: every Friday. But since my imaginary Awedience hungrily awaits for my posts at any given moment, I gave in and decided to fulfil their imaginary dreams. I’m a good master. Pat me now.

 

Let’s talk about neighbours. Do you like yours? I hate mine. Although I pretend to like them and smile whenever I see them. They have two kids. Do you like kids? Yes? Something’s wrong with you. Wait, I said kids, not babies. Still yes? Well, then, you should have my neighbours’; they yell and play when and where they’re not supposed to and they’re always loud and– wait, I sound like a grandpa. I generally have a slight distaste for children from I-can-talk-now to my-parents-don’t-get-me years old. I confess; I lied about the word “slight“. Babies? I don’t generally like them, but the ones that don’t generally cry are usually very, very cute. But what I hate the most about children is their parents. Especially my neighbours. Their mother screams more than them to stop them from screaming. Their father is apathetic to everything that happens around him. He probably pretends they don’t exist and lives a happy little life in his head.

 

While writing this blog, I realised my neighbours aren’t that interesting after all. But they have a special place in my heart, because thanks to them I have used several words of the vocabulary I didn’t know I was able to pronounce and very textually mean every single figurative expression.

 

And now they stop yelling and I have nothing else to blog about. Tragedy of my life.

I feel like I’m in a Sophocles’ play and this is my last monologue before I dramatically drop dead to the ground but, of course, I can’t yet before I curse whomever put me in this situation (neighbours) and then the joke will be on them when they live a long happy life but their grandchildren shall suffer for whatever unfortunate misfortune befell upon the accursor (I’m pretty sure I just made up a word here) and the descendants must be subject to my curse because of the malevolent deeds of their accursed ancestors.

 

I also promised to my fake Awedience that I shall speak about hashtags. Thoroughly. Well, I shall, but not yet. It’s too soon. Unless I die till then, #hashtag shall be my last blog ever.

The most awesome first blog ever

I will try to play it cool and act as if I didn’t read how-to’s for blogging. Yeah, well, in fact, I did, and what most of them said was “write for yourself at first and maybe the Awedience (yes, I call readers an “Awedience”, I’m crazy like that) will come later”. I wrote and re-wrote this five times up until now (fine, I’m too bored to re-write, just roll with this) and I see that writing just for myself is not only egoistical, but also a little bit sad; I already talk to myself (or to inanimate objects around me), so writing to myself (on the Internet) seems a little bit weird. So, I shall make it more weird and sad and pretend I already have readers an Awedience.

So, for those of you who know me personally, I have many inside jokes coming on. For those of you who don’t, let’s make some new inside jokes! Sure, why not (See? This already feels like talking to myself, the only difference is that I’m also typing it; if you could also cheer and laugh and shed a tear or two, it would be much appreciated)!

Let’s define what this blog is going to be about. It’s all about something I haven’t defined yet. But I will. Because defining definitions definitely define dolphins (Oh, that was bad. And sad. Just cheer and laugh and pretend it was good. I go in a very dark place once I fail to deliver a good joke; but, hey! we have our first in-joke! Defining dolphins… It will sound funnier after a couple of years, I promise).

Many people blog about their interests. While I find that interesting, I don’t really feel I can do just that, since my likes and dislikes are all around the place. So I’ll just rap out my latest feelings on a topic that sparks an interest on me and publish it to the worldwide web. Yes, I’ll be typing about my interests after all.

So, I thank thee sincerely for being here for this historical moment that thou shalt remember for the rest of thy amazing life.

P.S: I didn’t talk about hashtags, so I shall add them in the tag.