There cums the neighbourhood.

The other night me and the girlfriend were reliving shared but separate childhood memories by re-watching The Neverending Story. It was a spur of the moment type thing, so we got started rather late. As we were approaching the half-way mark we found ourselves getting the mid-night giggles. That stage of tiredness when everything seems rather funny. We were chatting in hushed and clipped tones and having a laugh at how poorly some of the elements in the movie had aged. During this most pleasant of times we get interrupted by a loud banging on the wall followed by an equally loud yet muffled voice. - "I'm actually trying to sleep!" Or something to that effect came pouring through the wall we share with this apparently grumpy denizen. Most rude. That I had been forced to overhear said person have loud and obnoxious mid-day sex just a few days prior is of no concern. Apparently. Clamorous Afternoon Boinking - Perfectly acceptable. Average Nightly Conversation - Horrendous. We weren't having a rip-roaring booming time, with rowdy cheers and boisterous applauds. The volume was in every respect, reasonable. A bit too reasonable even. Had it sounded like twenty-odd burly men performing heavy construction in the middle of an ongoing party as a gaggle of geese were set ablaze for the party crowd's amusement I should think my keen and sharp neighbour would have hesitated before bothering me with information on his sleeping habits. The silly git. The addition of the word "actually" in his improvised and analog cross-domicile radio theatre opens up a whole other level of  possible interpretation. Did he actually expect us to know that his and our headboards were adjacent? What then must be his point with such rambunctious three o'clock sex? I dare not speculate any further into such perverted goings-on that must be...going on. I quite often over-complicate things. He's probably just a self-centered asshole. Which is an interesting idea, in and off itself.

A much smarter ape.

Humans kick ass. That is the one universal truth that we can all learn from our short little moment on this earth. The great lesson is not the beauty of nature, the delusions of God's greatness or any other man-made construct, other than this. We, as a species, need not fear any other animal. Given enough time we will figure out its weakness, kill and eat it. Or turn its carcass into some amusing product to help make our lives more interesting. Humans beings are dumb, selfish, evil, gluttonous, self-involved, murderous, vile and utterly irrational most of the time. I take no issue with this view  of the human race. What needs to be considered however is that all of these negative attributes we possess are concepts we have created. Any animal, even the little fuzzy ones we find cute, are much worse than the most horrid person. By our standards. Show me a walrus that can play the violin or a chipmunk that has deeply theorized on its own existence and I might change my tune. Until then I'll enjoy being a dirty stinking ape, of the more clever variety. We are the crowning achievement of creation. As of yet.

Sexually Transmitted Vengeance.

Finally, we have our revenge.* Nobody messes with humans. Especially not our junk. When we were asleep, in the jungle. And in no way molesting monkeys of any sort. So you hear that you damn dirty apes? We're coming to get ya! It is only a matter of time before we perfect the virus. Don't try and disguise yourselves by wearing hats and monocles, as amusing as that may be. We can tell one bipedal primate from another. Most of the time. Unless they're some kind of minority or something. *It is commonly believed that humans originally contracted HIV from monkeys. How is yet unknown, but sources inside of my head tell me that it happened through inappropriate sexual contact.

Pretend Heroism.

Am I the only one getting seriously tired of being told that athletes are heroes? Why am I constantly being reminded through the media and other people that I should take pause and admire these heroic feats of make believe? Wow! He jumped over a rather high horizontal stick using nothing but his own two legs and a really silly technique? Did he do it while wearing a colourful but impractical hat? Nothing's athletically awe inspiring unless ridiculous headgear is a involved. If you ask me. What are our values?  Actual heroes put themselves at great personal risk in order to help others. A true hero might even face certain death to save another life. They do not retire at 40 and putter around strip clubs in Monaco, doing coke off of some skank's snatch. Live the dream man, but don't expect me to worship you for it. Being the best at something non-sensical can be interesting, I'll give you that. For instance - having the ability to masturbate over twenty times during the little drive to work is as impressive as it is daring. That type of stamina and speed and reckless disregard for traffic safety is outstanding. A hero however, you are not. Just sticky and exhausted. Chasing a leather sphere around a field is as abhorrent a behaviour as many others frowned upon by society. (see example mentioned above) Add to this: Shimmying into a little outfit and squat-thrusting for hours in the name of fun and the entire thing seems borderline psychotic. Cheering them on feels almost cruel in such a context. I understand why the media are farting out praises for these plastic heroes. There's a profit to be made and airtime to be filled. Why in the world other people, many of whom could not care less about actual physical exercise, go on and on about sports I shall never understand. Now, the joy of watching a sports injury unfold I can comprehend. Thank God these sportsmen aren't discouraged by the fact that the laws of physics are working against them. Where would franchises like "World's Worst Whatever" be? Out of business, that's where. And in this economy we need all the profitable ventures we can get. So gimme a jingle when the next NASCAR driver turns his torso into a modern work of art using nothing but the momentum of the vehicle. True heroes sacrifice their lives, after all. For my entertainment.

Say what?

I want to find interesting and unusual ways of phrasing myself. I strive towards it constantly and with all the determination I can muster. There is a form of yearning inside of me. A want, for something that differs from the regular modes of expression. To discover an intriguing little mountain path that leads me up into the winding caverns of the imagination. Byways that diverge and distract you for a while but that ultimately take you back down towards the main road. Of truth. Hopefully with a new appreciation for its many nuances. My intention is to be someone's weirdest conversation. The anecdote they retell at parties as an example of convoluted associations, strange wording and mind blowing entertainment value. And at the same time I wish to remain both truthful and honest. Unfortunately there appears to be no consistency of quality in any of my musings. Sometimes I have a way with words, at other times I simply have my way with them. Off-putting to some. I'm perfectly fine with being alone for longer periods of time. It gives me the chance to reflect on things. A much needed inventory and reorganisation of the warehouse that is my mind. Aloneness also carries with it a sense of security and calm. One does not have to consider anything more than the thoughts that are racing through your head. Bouncing off of one another. Sparking new but partially mangled ideas. I suspect what inspires me to make such efforts at communicating is a quest for intimacy. A true feeling of belonging is what ties these periods of solitude together into something meaningful. The world is a wonderful place containing endless possibilities, with terrible consequences. Existence as a dimly lit carnival of extremes. Intimacy is what smooths over the jagged edges you might encounter in the dark. Verbiage is my entrance pass. Listen to it.