Pardon me for the silly alliteration. I
pretty much have no energy left to unleash a bit of creativity. Yeah,
the world – and the people in it – sucks the soul out of you
sometimes. Thankfully I got to meet Postmodernism back in college. He
taught me to be more considerate of the truth of others, to believe
that it's all just in the mind – that it's just a matter of
interpretation. Even if it kills.
It is killing me. But I'm not gonna let
them. There's one compelling way to stay sane and alive (at least in
the real world and in my dreams): close that damn FB! Hahaha. The
better to not mind some people's shameless acts of self-promotion - as opposed to rational selfishness or self-promotion propelled by moral values and the need to survive (please read Ayn Rand's The Virtue of Selfishness for elucidation). Shallow conceit is the only end product of FB I like least, in addition to the bashing,
backbiting, and attention-getting. However much you'd like to help
them develop “self-esteem,” I know of other ways to increase
vanity... for the better.
Anyhow, this entry is far from the
short story I bragged I was going to publish several entries ago. All
stories are actually trapped here inside my head and I have no way of
knowing when I might let them out. Though nowadays time, I've sensed,
is a little more lenient with me, it's still too early to waste it.
Had procrastination been less of a good friend, I'd have written my
life away already. He takes really good care of me, so as of the
moment, I cannot look elsewhere.
The stories will have to wait for the
storyteller to wake up. She is still in her usual somnambulist state,
arming herself with random philosophies (of life and of not) either
through a streak of restless wanderings (to wherever) or through
erratic raving bouts concerning issues that don't necessarily concern
her or the society she lives in. The quixotic, the paradoxical, the
oxymoron – these are her fields of expertise. She does not expect
any of you to understand her. She already understood why you never
could understand. Attempts to understand can only create more
misunderstandings. So bother not because... she's high on drugs!
*Lunatic Laugher* Caffeine is a drug, ain't it?
This storyteller yearns for anonymity
and mediocrity because she's brewing something many people deem
“impossible” and “ambitious.” However, because she has no
time to deal with narrow-minded homo sapiens, who pillage and plunder
various places around the globe and whose plethora of opinions cannot
bring food to her family's (not her own) table, she would rather keep
mum until her present project – let's call it project Frankenstein
– skyrockets into the literary scene and blows up every book that
every author ever made. She would then climb up that golden stage,
“strut and fret” her hours upon it, and then let her beloved
Frankenstein romp and spread his doom – much to the fearful cries
of those who once doubted her and her questionable capabilities. Ah,
how she loves metaphors. That's exactly why you're reading one now.
Metaphors: how much can they make up
for realities? What's a “real world,” anyway? Despite living on
this planet for about a quarter of a century, the idea of “reality”
has never sunk into my system. It's an idea that has remained
skin-deep ever since I mourned the temporariness of life (and
existence) at the age of 5. I should have been cursed for thinking
such morbid thoughts, but hey, I still get by from time to time.
There really is no real “reality” - that much I've figured out.
Because everything is a product of imagination and humanity's
propensity to not accept what they see before their eyes. Everything
in this world is constructed (even flora and fauna, and we apparently belong to the latter). What we're thinking is all made up.
What we're saying is all random stuff we learned from random
information from random people who sought to extract random meanings
and gain random knowledge from the randomness – and the nothingness
– of this world. Damn, we humans are THAT vain. We could not (and still cannot) accept
this void we're in so we created (and still continue to create) the metaphor of “reality.”
*Breathes*
I can just hit my eclectic friend for
sparking this sudden interest in metaphors (I'll just hit him with a
mackerel, haha). I wouldn't have entertained them had he not
suggested we “create a metaphor for the environmental issues”
we're presently facing in our in general, in the Philippines or wherever.
In addition, the metaphor should be explicitly stated in our title
and abstract body (yes, we're planning – just planning – to
present a paper to the Philippine Political Science Association
Conference this 2013). So voila: I got caught up in this metaphor
hoopla!
But seriously. I don't really believe
in the realities of this real world – or whatever they call it. I choose my own thoughts and beliefs. I
make my own realities, regardless of what other species say. This is
my life. I may not own me but God does (again, however we perceive Him to be). And He never really said I'm
not allowed to make my own realities, or that I shouldn't rave, rant, roam around, be restless, be random... or, at the very least, be myself. (:
Phew! After all's said and done (by my self from another dimension), I'm sharing this beautiful Dr. Seuss poem (haha, this is NOT an implied self-greeting!):
Happy Birthday To You!
“If we didn't have birthdays,
you wouldn't be you.
If you’d never been born,
well then what would you do?
If you’d never been born,
well then what would you be?
You might be a fish!
Or a toad in a tree!
You might be a doorknob!
Or three baked potatoes!
You might be a bag full of
hard green tomatoes.”
“Or worse than all that…Why,
you might be a WASN'T!
A Wasn't has no fun at all.
No, he doesn't.
A Wasn't just isn't.
He just isn't present.
But you…You ARE YOU!
And, now isn't that pleasant!”
“Today you are you!
That is truer than true!
There is no one alive…
…who is you-er than you!
Shout loud, “I am lucky
to be what I am!
Thank goodness I’m not
just a clam or a ham
Or a dusty old jar of
sour gooseberry jam!
I am what I am! That’s a
great thing to be!
If I say so myself,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!
P.S.
Yes, come Saturday will be my un-birthday birthday. (:
