Last night, I went to hang out with some friends at a bar. Somebody recognized me and came up to say hello, and we ended up chatting for a while. A couple minutes into the conversation, he said, “You know, I was pretty intimidated to come talk to you.”

I was amused. Why? I asked.

Was it my rapier wit? My mastery of persuasive language? The # of pull-ups I can do?

No. “You call people out on their bullshit,” he said, smiling.

It occurred to me how few people are really, truly honest with us. Of course we have friends who support us, and that’s important. But when was the last time someone held us accountable? When was the last time someone listened to our excuses, paused, and just shook their head, saying, “Dude? Come on now.”

cool.

i totally understand that it’s not fun to be criticised, but hey!

gets lame. but some jokes are funny. over-stereotyped of course.

And so I was thinking, where would I post an orbituary in the future such that my friends would see it. On Facebook?? Huh? On status messages? Mass SMS? Whatsapp broadcast? Email? It sure was easier to just put it up in the papers.

Man, my extended family is huge.

I also have a distrust of ppl-who-facilitate-things-who-i-dont-know. I am doing it my way.

No more grandparents.

=/

The, for the lack of more distinctive
and less bitter irony, fat one
ranted against a perceived superiority-
derived inferiority complex,
flailing out against bullys and name-calling,
against stigmatisation and sterotyping.
He burns with a fervor stoked by a fierce
all-consuming inner fire,
wishing so hard to unleash the great fireball,
unaware that perhaps fanning these flames
will only burn his hollow self to ashes.

The innocent one, with the sugary plump cheeks
lovingly nurtured by cupcakes and ice cream,
describes cute furry creatures and colored rainbows.
She paints fairytales with her stubby fingers,
like Alice in Wonderland, feeling her way around
unsuspecting of magic teapots.

The thin one, he squirrels away in his square work cubicle,
shooting darting glances around as he scribbles
nervous rhetoric against the Establishment.
The cog and wheel in the Administration, he serves
but only grudgingly, being careful to blend
into the cubicles and template prose.
He holds his beer gingerly, quickly shifting words
around the table, making sure they don’t linger
for too long on his name.

The witch, with her photoshopped pastel face,
artificial eyelashes and mane hair that she uses
to hide behind, puts on her best accent and song,
speaking incomprehensible drivel, which
wouldn’t be half bad if it made more sense.

Superman, grins with a innocent boyish smile
that Clark Kent would be proud of.
He shows up in those loose collared long sleeves
that helps him fly faster than anybody,
leaving us behind in his smooth slick verses,
conjuring up magical worlds of delicate metaphors
intertwined in his contrails.
He describes to us heartwrenching civilisations
that he swoops in to save with his red cape;
cities infested with zombies, skyscraping prisons
of common folk.
He is the saviour of the night.

but they didn’t understand apples.

Alright I watched it to see whats Ryan Gosling is up to. And, I am so glad I haven’t paid for his recent two movies Crazy Stupid Love and Drive. Both aren’t worth paying for, hardly the time spent watching. In Drive, he is a dumb mute, or the equivalent. I cannot comprehend why he hardly speaks. The actress is also fairly mute. But with intriguing looks.

Basically, don’t watch, unless you just like to ponder why the girl is so sad all the time. And also why she loves her lousy husband. Do not marry impetuously at a young age. Married girl with kid and husband in prison, not sexy.

Hm Carey Mulligan was in Never Let Me Go. This girl has a deep painful streak in her.

Hello, we meet again and your face lights up with a small grin to hide the wrinkled anguish. Our talk drifts back to his name, which seems to pop up constantly like a curse in our conversations.

We start to avoid it. There is no need to bring up what we are already aware of. Perhaps it remains an obligation.

The mourning continues for another year, and another. When will it end? You must stop mentioning it. But it seems like something that belongs to us, between us. It does not seem to leave. It is time to move on.

It always is.