This won’t be a well-thought out post, I’m warning you. I’m merely using it for an exercise of procrastination and practice, unrelated to current moods and all-around seriousness of these days. My English needs oiling, you see — I haven’t written very very long time.
I felt the urge to make a kind of self-involved blog shit nobody cares about, me included. I’ve mastered the art of rolling my eyes with this kind of stuff, and yet here I am, making a conflicted fool of myself and wasting your time, all in a beautifully packaged mess.
I can’t even begin to explain the confusion inside my head right now. I’ve been hammering away a novel for the first time in years, and it makes me feel incredibly good. It’s a great feeling when you bring new pages to life, even though they may be completely rewritten and disowned by the upcoming revisions. Using a little transparent plastic tube thingy with a metal ball to carve meaningful symbols on the unsuspecting page is a strange predicament.
And, by the way, this is the first text I’ve ever written consistently with my complete ten fingers. I know it sounds like a meaningless matter — well, maybe for the continuation of mankind. For all living creatures upon this planet and the remainder of our bleak universe, it’s as important as a dog fart.
Anyway, this is called touch typing. Feel it? Did you feel the touchy touch-ness? Did you get a good grasp of all my ten fingers caressing your poor little brain on this gloriously typed phrase? Oh, and all those tasty ‘p’s, by the way, were typed by my right pinky. Yeah, that’s right. What a time to be alive.
In other news, I’ve been reading some insane works of science-fiction. The latest of which is Adrian Tchaikovsky’s Children of Time. What’s it about, I hear you asking? I’s a fucking epic plot spanning millennia, where the sorrowful remainder of mankind is pitted against a planet of intelligent spiders.
Oh, but they’re not your average kitchen spiders. They’ve been perfected by a crafty nano virus that makes them evolve substantially through the generations. They have technology, religion and even slavery, using their ant colonies as war machines and solvers of large-scale computational problems for their arachnid eight-eyed overlords.
Yeeeaah. The spiders use ant colonies as computers, and I haven’t even finished the fucking book. I don’t know if Adrian wrote this book with ten fingers, but my mind is getting seriously fingered right now.
Random stuff aside, I’ve also been studying scuba-diving online, like the special little snowflake I am. I’ll just leave it here, like I don’t even care. That’s how cool I am.
By the way, thank you for making me feel validated. Maybe the two of you readers even enjoyed this problematic post. The truth is I’m quite happy, despite all odds. One can feel substantially better by managing to accomplish tiny little things, one at a time. The days bring a sense of purpose about them. The randomness of it all makes me boil in the possibilities.
I also recently finished a great book about the Wright brothers. That’s Wright. What a timing, too, to read stuff about the dawn of aviation when humanity has, for the first time in forever, almost all of its airplanes collecting dust.
There’s a fucking procrastinating plane out there waiting to take me to the Azores on a sight-seeing, food-eating, scuba-diving trip. Oh, don’t worry, I won’t forget to absolutely massacre you with my Instagram feed, carefully perfected to give the impression I haven’t lost any time with it. That’s my secret. Being as vain and needful of your approval like the rest of you fuckers.
Strange that I’m on the brink of posting this nonsense on a delicately crafted blog. Oh well, I’m probably taking it down sometime in the uptight future. This has been way too joyful a post to be exposed to the rarified air of the professionally outraged defenders of the internets.
Ha! Joke’s on them. Nobody cares about this crap.
Love you. Stay safe. Gui