Ah Bummer

(This is the part where I tell you that I’m really supposed to be posting up about Bali, along with its pictures and very uninteresting musings, but the Nvidia 9800GT card just fell into a comatose state, running but not functioning, so all that I’m left is the Vaio I took from work and a 60 day trial of Microsoft Word).

I don’t believe in feng shui. I don’t believe that fortune, luck, prosperity, love and everything abstract is governed by a natural flow of things as dictated by symbolism of levels both interesting and preposterous. I don’t think having a fish pond in the front of my house will redirect this natural flow - as man-made drainage do to creeks - into bringing all the good things into the living room, deluging us in its abstract glory. I do, however, think that the fish pond is the greatest hindrance to any weekend bliss, should I be forced to clean it under the sun.


I do, actually, believe in Lady Luck, and that she can be a bitch sometimes, working things in spiting everything unlucky enough to incur her wrath, but most of the time she’s just like a one-woman corporate department show; too many crap, one measly personnel. The next time you start blaming on the good lady, remember that she’s doing it alone. And that she can get tired and lonely on a Friday night. Offer her a drink.


Which is why, right now, I would like to place myself in this optimisitic ante-theatre (as a desperate attempt at self-gratification, because it’s easier to blame fantasy than accept reality), which is a 360 projection that tells me that I just happen to be out of the Good Lady’s service rotation, meaning I’m in that phase of flopping helpnessness until the Good Lady’s returns to my file.


Putting that into perspective, I suppose I’m just part of the natural order of things, in the service of otherworldly forces that govern my life as though I’ve signed up for a lifetime of services, and that things right now are pretty tied up, and they’ll just have to put me in the waiting list, and that they’ll get back to me next week and they’ll be having everything right back to working order, yes sir, thank you for your patience.


Or I could really rant and throw a tantrum and start kicking at flowerpots. Then have security throw me out. And then I get suspended, possibly refused of any further services with a refund. And then then live a life with no living, whatever the prospects make it seem.


Truth is, I’m ranting right now. Or at least I think I am.


****
Truth is, I don’t know what I’m doing.


Suddenly the idea of having so much time without the computer for me to waste it on seems so... I don’t know. Liberated? Not quite. Empty might be the better expression, if a bit poignant. Did I just write poignant? I meant that I seriously need a life.


The final truth is; I don’t know what to do.


Should I watch TV? Should I finally start on Chronicles of Narnia? Should I take out the old, slowly fraying art pads and start sketching mindlessly? Do I walk outside into the garden and the warm, still air, and look at the stars that are – thanks to the broken streetlights – surely visible under the stretch of devouring darkness?


What do I do? What do I do? Omg omg omg omg omg omg.


This is a revelation. This is the epiphany in one of its many true forms; the loss and the realisation. Of reliance. Of utter devotion. Of obsession. Of what’s lost in between.
Yes. Yes, I see it now. It’s all as clear as crystal.










I seriously need to get the computer fixed.

****

(12 hours without the computer. I’m starting to hallucinate. I see the things beyond the things you see; for instance, the fake plant on the dining table is not in fact a fake plant, but a network of microscopic watermelons lined up to form the data of a single bit, in fact part of a larger collection of bits that form bytes and kilobytes and megabytes, amalgamated into a single entity that is the world, in fact the bowling ball of Cthulhu. It’s really trippy).