Bitter and Butter

I wonder if those two go together. Somehow, somewhere, there’s probably a Marjory and Mabel’s Bitter Butter, stacked at the supermarket refrigerator, beside the cheese and the dairy, and sales research would register that a lot of the buyers consists of little girls named Betty.

(I’m not the sanest tonight; I think lack of sleep and tiredness is accounting for some rather severe loss of rational thought and coherence. It’s probably best that you ignore this post, and go someplace more conducive, like Newgrounds, or East of the Web.)

Are there really bitter butters?

Butters, so far, are just butter to me. The only difference between them is the price that go with them, and with it probably quality in taste of which I can never truly discern (they taste the same, smell differently when put on a pan, and maybe a little different in saltiness). That, and the fact that I don’t see them any different from margarine, makes it even more evident. Nope, I just don’t taste butter. But I like them, and whatever they make with them.

So if there are really bitter butters out there, I’d like to try one. Just for the heck of it.

*****

There is a bitterness that linger in my mouth when I walk into the papers, and when I walk out the bitterness turned tart and seeped into my central nervous system, so that I lumber around and slur like goo.

Ah well, tis brought upon to myself. Talk about splashing yourself with Nippon paint while aware of the consequences, but you do it anyway because it seemed pretty artsy.

Two more papers to go; one of them I’m still unaware of what and how it will be tested, the other hopefully an easy hurdle if I take the days before it to study extensively.

Two more papers. Then I taste the beckoning freedom, and shelf it away for the sake of the FYP.

*****

My father surprised me the other day by bringing back a piece of art.

It comes in the form of a badly framed, rather flimsy looking painting depicted two half-naked women (with perfect Goddess of Venus bosoms), both of them who reminded me of Lindsay Lohan, amidst a sci-fi fantasy backdrop. The painting is very grey, rather sombre, but rather beautiful. In a mystifying way; Elegantly gloomy.

I followed a logo at the bottom corner of the painting and found that it was illustrated by Luis Royo. My father told me that his boss bought it sometime ago, in an art exhibition, for RM3000. The office was being moved, and the boss decided that the painting has to go. So the father took it home.

The next day, the father and I sat down and tried to frame the painting better (it was disdainfully held between a cardboard piece and a plastic layer, with cello-tape to hold it together) when we discovered that it’s not quite a painting, but a poster.

I wonder if it was really worth 3000 smackaroos, and if the father’s boss hadn’t got himself conned stupid.

At first we hung it at the wall facing the dining table. When I got home today, however, the painting is on the floor, leaned against the wall, and in its place was the Fortune Deity picture we had hung at the top of the front door. On top of the front door now is a wood ornament, supposedly a carving of the Qilin (or Kylin, or Kirin).

If the painting (poster) have nowhere to go, I think I might just ask if I can hang it in my room.