A Dialogue with the Prosti Monitor
Here sat the monitor in front of me. It cursed me over and over and took control of the mouse for one hundred twenty seconds leading me to this blank space and uttered, "Write about it."
"About what?" I responded with my usual foul-mouthed mind mouth.
"About that." The friggin' monitor pointed to the contents of my bombarded inner universe.
Getting tired of this futile guessing game, I replied, "There's a great myriad of things in there."
"Exactly."
"Note that I just rent PC's, honey, and I ain't no rich kid (unlike those you find in the net who usually pretend they own the world and can buy the Jaguars in Bush's expansive garage). "
"But it's what you do, right?" The monitor sounded like that old woman in the Twister movie. "You write about the truth your head contain. The truth that you find everyday.."
I paused and thought of everything for a while (with segways of silent curses). I have a lot of things to say--to you, to myself, to the world... What the hell are you talking about?!! ( I'm impressed that I manage to self-censor to somehow control the growing number of bad words I use in my blogs. But believe me, in my head, there's more than just those).
I am actually on the verge of dropping atomic bombs to certain stuff (and people, I may add) but I said, "No, not now... What the heck?" It's not that I'm always mad; It's just that I'm very... Oh, god, what's the correct word for it? 'Cynic'? No. Damn, I can't even describe it. But what the heck---billions of bloggers are posting in every three seconds on earth. And I'm tired of the same stuff (there goes one thought off my chest!!!). I've submitted myself for over a year now in the mundane world to try to understand the whole thing about being such and it's indeed fucking boring (there goes another with the freedom of the 'F' word to flirt over the webs of your network!!!). It's time to live again. I think I've learned enough about the whole 'Mainstream' thing.
No, it's not time for a change. It's time to resurrect. Give me time to kill this Mr. Mundane James tonight.
"That's what I'm talking about," The monitor gave me that mischievious smirk.
"About
"About that." The friggin' monitor pointed to the contents of my bombarded inner universe.
Getting tired of this futile guessing game, I replied, "There's a great myriad of things in there."
"Exactly."
"Note that I just rent PC's, honey, and I ain't no rich kid (unlike those you find in the net who usually pretend they own the world and can buy the Jaguars in Bush's expansive garage). "
"But it's what you do, right?" The monitor sounded like that old woman in the Twister movie. "You write about the truth your head contain. The truth that you find everyday.."
I paused and thought of everything for a while (with segways of silent curses). I have a lot of things to say--to you, to myself, to the world... What the hell are you
I am actually on the verge of dropping atomic bombs to certain stuff (and people, I may add) but I said, "No, not now... What the heck?" It's not that I'm always mad; It's just that I'm very... Oh, god, what's the correct word for it? 'Cynic'? No. Damn, I can't even describe it. But what the heck---billions of bloggers are posting in every three seconds on earth. And I'm tired of the same stuff (there goes one thought off my chest!!!). I've submitted myself for over a year now in the mundane world to try to understand the whole thing about being such and it's indeed fucking boring (there goes another with the freedom of the 'F' word to flirt over the webs of your network!!!). It's time to live again. I think I've learned enough about the whole 'Mainstream' thing.
No, it's not time for a change. It's time to resurrect. Give me time to kill this Mr. Mundane James tonight.
"That's what I'm talking about," The monitor gave me that mischievious smirk.
