Friday, March 20, 2009

I Wish I could Lick an Odour-less Vagina

I hate insomnia.

If insomnia was a person, I would enter his/her world, plant seeds of doubt, dischord, duplicity, deceit and destruction all around him/her. And then I'm going to stand back - grooming it once in a while - and watch in glee as its world consumes the fucking bastard. And then spit it/him/her as a hollow seed of a thing not worthy of anything.

This is why I should have been named Azazel.

It was an old Ray Bradbury story. On the occassional Ray Bradbury Theatre on TV2 - TV2 was my favourite channel because sometimes, late at night, they screen real gems like Goodbye Mr Chips and that telemovie about how actual lifetime was used as currency - there was a story about the perfect murder.

Titled 'A Perfect Murder' or something, it tells of a 40/50 year old successful man going back to his old hometown on his birthday to find this kid who bullied him as a child.

He went to the guy's house, arranged some old knick knacks and figurines on the front steps, and rang the doorbell or some shit. And then the guy came out. And he just looked at the aging, empty husk of a man with some degree of satisfaction and residual fear.

And then the protagonist went to sleep in the woods where he was bullied as a child.

He didn't do anything, and my father got me to hold a ladder or something, that I missed the ending.

Being a Ray Bradbury story, I believe that nothing happened. Or quite possibly, the bully shot himself out of guilt.

That telemovie had a profound impact on me. I tried to figure out - for years - on how to do a perfect murder.

Thus, my fascination with CSI. Watching the damned series, I have come to the conclusion that it is near impossible not to leave some sort of trace at the scene. Though in real life, things are more low-tech. And lazy.

The one method I am most likely to go with is to influence someone else to do the deed.

What has worked for me is not physical killing, but an ending to the spirit. I believe that life is a harsher sentence than death.

Oh, God. This is what happens when I can't go to sleep. The mind wanders on stupid-ass questions like 'how to do a perfect murder' and 'does the color orange seem to you as it does me?'

I think that if I'm in the States, I can get away with a plea for insanity. Not the crazy-cute type. Just plain vanilla crazy.

Okay, since I feel no urge to sleep just yet, and am too tired to do actual work - I got heaps for the weekend - I guess I'll continue to ramble.

The best ice-cream is green-tea red bean in a waffle-like shell thing. It's only RM4++ at Sakae Sushi.

The average ejaculate of an elephant can feed an anthill for a year - Neil Gaiman.

The television was originally intended as an educational instrument.

I see entertainment as the art of evoking emotion and experiences for the audience. Andy Kaufman, yo!

I used to sit in darkened theatre spaces, cringing and feeling utterly ashamed because people who watch theatre expect to laugh at everything. They think that the only purpose for the stage - or any form of entertainment - is comedy.

Even An Inconvenient Truth - basically a series of Powerpoint slides - got some idiots to laugh, and it's a bloody fucking sombre documentary!

Try laughing through The God Delusion specials.

People have amused me so. Have entertained me so. And I am not being condescending. I have a love-hate relationship with people. Feeling obliged, I sought to entertain them.

I do this by provoking reactions and emotions.

Mirth. Joy. Profundity. Sadness.

Anger is a reaction, and I can be an expert on inducing anger, if I want to. From mild annoyance to righteous indignation to deep-seated hatred.

You reacted. You felt something. You have been entertained.

Politicians are entertaining. Again, no condescencion. It is their function.

They constantly inspire, evoke righteous indignation and make people feel better about themselves. Because no matter how fucked up they are or how crappy their lives are, at least they think they're better than politicians.

I mean, what kind of loser fights over Toyota Camrys?

PKR and DAP, sitting under a tree. M.E.E.T.I.N.G

Answer me, you murderer!

Now THAT's entertainment.


I hate insomnia.

I hate YOU.

Man. I wish I could lick an odour-less vagina.