There Are Others

It's my birthday. I usually write several whiny paragraphs about how, why and if I exist. I recapped them all last year, so I don't have to do it now. Thanks, 2010 Paul.

29. Nothing to see here.

I begged for more followers on Twitter, but it didn't really work. On the other hand, I did get loads of retweets of this:

The penultimate letter of this tweet has been stolen. Oh well - it's not the end of the word.

Hohoho. How clever it is. How clever I am. Not clever enough to succeed in life, but not stupid enough to be oblivious to the fact.

The retweets make up for the follower lack. Just to think that there are people all over the world, reading that tweet, smiling weakly, and thinking "oh, I get it", is all the reward I need.

I'm a bit tired of writing about myself, so I might try and direct my attention outwards for a change.

That thing over there is mainly white, but with a green stripe. Not a pleasant green (like a tree or "helper snake"), but an unpleasant pea-slime green.

The whole object isn't very tall. Four inches, perhaps? I don't know inches. Damn. I spoke about myself. Stop it, Paul. Stop it.

It has some lettering printed on the stripe. The lettering reads 'TARGET ZERO' and there's a tick in the 'O'.

The object has a handle.

It is a mug.

You see? True beauty is all around you.

There are people all over the place, and they all have their own internal lives. It's odd to think that there a billions of equally petty, equally cowardly, equally complex consciousnesses out there.

Well, maybe not billions. I doubt there are that many that could fill hundreds of blog posts with their ridiculous brain mulch.

But there are probably a few million.

It's enough to make you believe in a god with too much time on her hands.

There's so much activity happening beneath people's (and peoples') eyes that you forget it exists. But there's loads of stuff back there. Twisted imaginings, logic loops, groundless speculation, paranoia, little songs, role-play scenarios, acceptance speeches for hypothetical awards.

Life is like an iceberg. 90% of it lies beneath the surface.

Unless everyone is much simpler than I imagine. Maybe they think of, like, three things all day.

Maybe I have the most powerful and productive brain in the universe. If so...

what a waste.

This blog has sponged up so many thoughts that could have been better used in the fields of physics, medicine, forestry or floor history.

I think it's more likely that everyone is sitting on a similar reservoir of teeming thought stew. It's just that some people like to dam it up, block it up, contain it. And I like to bottle it and ship it out to the world, even though hardly anyone will sign for it, and it tastes a bit brackish.

Mood

Birthday

Listening to

Keystrokes

Reading

"Keystrokes"

Watching

Diff'rent Strokes

Playing

Strip stroker

Eating

Stroked salmon

Drinking

Stroka Cola

***

When I blow out my candles, I'm going to wish that, forever more, people can tell others what their wish is, and it will still come true.

This whole wish secrecy thing is a load of rubbish. You should spread your wishes around. The more people who know about them, the better the chance that they'll come true.

And don't get me STARTED on genies.

Of course, until I make the wish, the wish secrecy rule is still in effect. And, as I've just told you about it, it won't come true.

Damn you!

You win again, Captain Birthday!