one can gauge my mood by noticing how easily i tolerate the sounds of children playing.
on a great day, i marvel at the supreme specialness that children can exist at all and be able just to play, with all the g_dawful things happening in the world. pure innocence. bliss. i welcome and smile at it.
on a good day, i hardly notice, and my mood is unchanged-- if not slightly fortified by it as i pass.
on an off day, their terrible shrieks annoy me. i wonder how their shrill squawking, disgusting blubbering and fruitlesss hollering doesn't drive the playground supervisor to throttle them each with their own respective lunchpails.
when i'm feeling next to nowhere: melancholy, angry, nihilistic, i resent their existence. i question how their parents could've not strangled them with their own umbilical cords and stuffed them under the matresses they were conceived upon. i want to drown them in a mixture their mother's menstrual blood, the lifeblood of their ancestors' and my vomit, with a large concentration of spit and bile. their existence is the most revolting and excrutiating riddle. i'd rather not solve it, and end the crude nonsense forever. save the world from their mangy hands, mucousy noses and most of all their torturously diseased screeching... but then the assclown landlord next door deems necessary to use his whipper-snipper-- the second greatest aural monitor of my mood... when that piece of never-shoulda-been-invented tripe beast begins to "work" away, and the children are freaking out in disharmony, i am at a serious brink. i generally have to leave the house, blast norwegian black metal or go to sleep, with earplugs and a hot toddy. this ear-raping duo is the finish line of the race to end my tolerance.
this utter repulsiveness and complete frothing anger doesn't translate into the intense abhorrence of the precious mewing of tolerable, powdery smelling newborns or the brilliant, well-behaved run-off you sometimes see. just the ones that should rightfully drowned at birth, or rather their parents should have been. poor deadened souls. no hope.
anyway, today i am in a good mood with a 40% chance of greatness. this is how i noticed the usual disgustitude was less like torture and more like a robin's first song (ugh). i check my forehead, grab my metalstick-- just to be sure-- and head out, into a world that could turn it all around in 30 seconds.
on a great day, i marvel at the supreme specialness that children can exist at all and be able just to play, with all the g_dawful things happening in the world. pure innocence. bliss. i welcome and smile at it.
on a good day, i hardly notice, and my mood is unchanged-- if not slightly fortified by it as i pass.
on an off day, their terrible shrieks annoy me. i wonder how their shrill squawking, disgusting blubbering and fruitlesss hollering doesn't drive the playground supervisor to throttle them each with their own respective lunchpails.
when i'm feeling next to nowhere: melancholy, angry, nihilistic, i resent their existence. i question how their parents could've not strangled them with their own umbilical cords and stuffed them under the matresses they were conceived upon. i want to drown them in a mixture their mother's menstrual blood, the lifeblood of their ancestors' and my vomit, with a large concentration of spit and bile. their existence is the most revolting and excrutiating riddle. i'd rather not solve it, and end the crude nonsense forever. save the world from their mangy hands, mucousy noses and most of all their torturously diseased screeching... but then the assclown landlord next door deems necessary to use his whipper-snipper-- the second greatest aural monitor of my mood... when that piece of never-shoulda-been-invented tripe beast begins to "work" away, and the children are freaking out in disharmony, i am at a serious brink. i generally have to leave the house, blast norwegian black metal or go to sleep, with earplugs and a hot toddy. this ear-raping duo is the finish line of the race to end my tolerance.
this utter repulsiveness and complete frothing anger doesn't translate into the intense abhorrence of the precious mewing of tolerable, powdery smelling newborns or the brilliant, well-behaved run-off you sometimes see. just the ones that should rightfully drowned at birth, or rather their parents should have been. poor deadened souls. no hope.
anyway, today i am in a good mood with a 40% chance of greatness. this is how i noticed the usual disgustitude was less like torture and more like a robin's first song (ugh). i check my forehead, grab my metalstick-- just to be sure-- and head out, into a world that could turn it all around in 30 seconds.
4 comments:
i apologize for the two differing fonts. please just imagine the whole post in arial. thanks.
That was quite the arial bombardment, and I salute you for it.
this should help:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ytfnT4bbd8Y
it's not what you think. wait until the end. I think it sums up your sentiment.
it's the best thing ever.
yes. i've seen that clip before. it's exactly that.
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