Friday, July 17, 2009
I can't count...
Post number 82 by the blog-o-counter-of-all-things-bloginess
Gah! The number is quite a lot but too few for regular. Reflective of what you would call an elderly age however it is only a tiny amount of blog data that roams the wide world of interweb.
The old brain is still ticking away hard at things that would most commonly be dismissed as frivolous, uninteresting, trivial, not worth consider however the boredom tends to let it linger, dwell, stew, fester and take a negative turn to the sad and tender side of things. A bit like picking at a scab I'd say. The kind of scab that you remember that it hurt but can't remember the feeling and the blackness of the dried over wound lends to a feeling of itching and of course the repulsed attraction of removing the dead bit - sloughing an unsightly mark and feeling a sense of satisfaction before realising the realigned and new cells that it was protecting is as unsightly as the scab.
I sit laden with layers of doona and enjoy the warm comfort it brings on a cold cold night. Luckily it is a night without snow, a suburb without icy precipitation, a town without a flake. It's not really lucky. It isn't even with chance that there would be snow. Fanciful to think that I could be bounding away in the crunchy masses of white that seems to fall in winter in other regions of the world.
Le monde? Uchuu? Globe? A very large mass speckled with meatsacks that are perilously mortal. I wonder if god has a counter? Would it be that for every intake of breath something dies and every outtake of breath something lives a little counter, kind of like those ebay counters, would tick away, registering the meatsacks' speck of existence?
Brain capacity is not something that we meatsacks can boast about. I sit and ponder on things. Things that are silly and things that are not. My little mind boggles at the absurdity, at the hypocrisy, at the smell that is coming from the bin and how in the world some kind of decomposition could creat such an offensive, persisten odour for a couple of days. I think those moments could be my favourite if I were to be one to favour. My thoughts these days seem to be like a used teabag, left in a saucer for reuse later and kept in the fridge absorbing fridge taste.
Mmm. Meatsacks. Funny, tiny, sacky, bloaty, meatsacks trailing about the earth. I wonder what it would be like to be a MegaMeatsack. Like a Megafauna or Megaflora. I once had a dream about massive, MASSIVE, animals in the sea. It was a like a whole island or archaepeligo (spelling?) was swimming in azure seas, making the water look shallow and the trees tiny. Although perhaps there should have been massive trees in my dream to account for there being massive mega-sea-fauna.
I think that Megafauna would have desires too. Possibly to find the biggest item to eat or perhaps the largest mass of sea krill that their mouths could capture. Or perhaps they would be steady beasts that paddle their way through their existence. Give birth to little megafauna and then sink to the bottom of their shallow ocean and reenter the microcosm of megafauna ecology.
Is there someone who has read every blog on the internet? With the advent of microblogging on things such as twitter; use of networking web pages to update your status, is there someone who has read it all? Is there someone who daily sits and reads the amounts of brainfarts and digital articulations of the interweb meatsacks? Is there a blogger who is not a meatsack?
When is a meatsack not a meatsack? If small percentage of a percentage of a meatsack was still a meatsack and that other majority was not a meatsack but part of the meatsack would the meat still count? And if the meatsack is uploading to the interwebs is the interwebs becoming a meatsack?
Full of clutter.
*I want to cry*
Just want to push it all aside and turn it into a little pile.
*I want to cry*
Little, manageable piles of stuff.
*I want to cry*
Little, piles to fill my room.
*I want to cry*
Many, little piles.
*but my eyes are dry*
Sillly, meatsack, trix are for kids.
Gah! The number is quite a lot but too few for regular. Reflective of what you would call an elderly age however it is only a tiny amount of blog data that roams the wide world of interweb.
The old brain is still ticking away hard at things that would most commonly be dismissed as frivolous, uninteresting, trivial, not worth consider however the boredom tends to let it linger, dwell, stew, fester and take a negative turn to the sad and tender side of things. A bit like picking at a scab I'd say. The kind of scab that you remember that it hurt but can't remember the feeling and the blackness of the dried over wound lends to a feeling of itching and of course the repulsed attraction of removing the dead bit - sloughing an unsightly mark and feeling a sense of satisfaction before realising the realigned and new cells that it was protecting is as unsightly as the scab.
I sit laden with layers of doona and enjoy the warm comfort it brings on a cold cold night. Luckily it is a night without snow, a suburb without icy precipitation, a town without a flake. It's not really lucky. It isn't even with chance that there would be snow. Fanciful to think that I could be bounding away in the crunchy masses of white that seems to fall in winter in other regions of the world.
Le monde? Uchuu? Globe? A very large mass speckled with meatsacks that are perilously mortal. I wonder if god has a counter? Would it be that for every intake of breath something dies and every outtake of breath something lives a little counter, kind of like those ebay counters, would tick away, registering the meatsacks' speck of existence?
Brain capacity is not something that we meatsacks can boast about. I sit and ponder on things. Things that are silly and things that are not. My little mind boggles at the absurdity, at the hypocrisy, at the smell that is coming from the bin and how in the world some kind of decomposition could creat such an offensive, persisten odour for a couple of days. I think those moments could be my favourite if I were to be one to favour. My thoughts these days seem to be like a used teabag, left in a saucer for reuse later and kept in the fridge absorbing fridge taste.
Mmm. Meatsacks. Funny, tiny, sacky, bloaty, meatsacks trailing about the earth. I wonder what it would be like to be a MegaMeatsack. Like a Megafauna or Megaflora. I once had a dream about massive, MASSIVE, animals in the sea. It was a like a whole island or archaepeligo (spelling?) was swimming in azure seas, making the water look shallow and the trees tiny. Although perhaps there should have been massive trees in my dream to account for there being massive mega-sea-fauna.
I think that Megafauna would have desires too. Possibly to find the biggest item to eat or perhaps the largest mass of sea krill that their mouths could capture. Or perhaps they would be steady beasts that paddle their way through their existence. Give birth to little megafauna and then sink to the bottom of their shallow ocean and reenter the microcosm of megafauna ecology.
Is there someone who has read every blog on the internet? With the advent of microblogging on things such as twitter; use of networking web pages to update your status, is there someone who has read it all? Is there someone who daily sits and reads the amounts of brainfarts and digital articulations of the interweb meatsacks? Is there a blogger who is not a meatsack?
When is a meatsack not a meatsack? If small percentage of a percentage of a meatsack was still a meatsack and that other majority was not a meatsack but part of the meatsack would the meat still count? And if the meatsack is uploading to the interwebs is the interwebs becoming a meatsack?
Full of clutter.
*I want to cry*
Just want to push it all aside and turn it into a little pile.
*I want to cry*
Little, manageable piles of stuff.
*I want to cry*
Little, piles to fill my room.
*I want to cry*
Many, little piles.
*but my eyes are dry*
Sillly, meatsack, trix are for kids.
// posted by Sooki Monster @ 9:36 PM 
