Post, in which you’ll find nothing. But nothing is something sometimes.

Erm.

(I’m supposed to try to work, but for the whole night I’ve been pestered by a series of calls for help that every time I settled down to start a sentence, I get blasted off as though the chair is made with a catapulting mechanism. And now when I can finally get to work, I couldn’t. Bloody. Think.)

Hmm.

It’s one of those nights, where I feel the half of my brain missing, and the other half clinging on rusted hinges that will break anytime. And when it does break everything goes rumbly-tumbly; those would signify a good couple of hours staring at a spiralling world. But that probably wouldn’t happen. Not tonight, anyway, but half of my brain is missing anyhow, and as much as it seems like a wimpy-ass excuse not to do my work, I can’t get it started.

It’s one of those nights where I hate myself; curse you, brain!

(Warranty does not cover loss or theft, and therefore I cannot request for a new half.)

But as I’ve come to learn myself over the years of unrequited acts of dimming down, half a brain is more than sufficient to write a blog post filled with utter nonsense. It just takes away a bulk of my vocabulary, which is already limited in the first place. I have no idea what a nonagenarian is now, and a synonym for Idiot? Thesaurus, please?

The good thing about writing with the free reign of making up nonsense, and the unabashed act of actually posting it up (at one point of being a writer, amateur or aspiring or whatnot, is that you’ll eventually learn to be very stubborn with your work and wouldn’t try to care too much, but still require that priceless feedback) is that I can cook up something anytime. And as it is on par with any form of nonsensicality, it doesn’t even need to make sense.

For example, I can write something like this;

I’m a watermelon. A cannibalistic one. Most watermelons, or even fruits to be general, do not understand the requisite importance of cannibalism. In this world, we’re all parasites. I don’t care if the scientists categorise us as something else, but in truth, we’re all leeches that stick to one another and suck each other dry. We eat each other in order to survive. It’s a fruit-eat-fruit world, and when you think of it that way, if you consider that as truth, as much as it is one to me, you’ll see that the literal interpretation of that phrase would serve to your best benefit. Therefore, do not judge me. I cannibalise to survive. I deserve that right to live.

Now, allow me to digest. The last dude had a lot of seeds.

And as you may observe now, I post it up shamelessly. Inevitably someone will call me an idiot and say “This is the suck”. But I will relish in the fact that I get a feedback of a sort, and knowing the own nature of my work, and what it is meant to be (utter nonsense, or nonsense passing of as something with more intellectual value), I would even be happy that my nonsense is good nonsense, since it sucked, and by heavens that’s the right way things go, isn’t it?

(Dear God, what I writing now?)

Simply put; nonsense, in some ways, is essence.

(Therefore, you will come to understand that this entire post, down to the very last pixel generated by the initial act of me tapping on the keyboard, is complete nonsense. And by Styx and Valhalla, get the hell out of here!)

La li lu le loo. La li lu le loo. La li lu le loo…