Tale of Self by Someone Else
So I sit. In my chair, wondering where the lot of my droogies are. Thinking, how maybe they have found a hot little dovotch to give the old in-out. Such a savage world they all live in. Better than my world I could guess. A world of hidden insanity that only the friendly meter maid of passer by could see. Oh the mind of Maddness... and the tale of which shall be told.
The New Title
So a bit of the telecommunications did I gander. Of varied ages, all with the same requests, to be masters and sole heirs to their own universe, as they let out their petty cries of self loathing. It did not go under my skin like a tainted disease, at least, not until my last caller. Oh how the wheels longed to be greased. Who would be the one to grease them but yours truly... just wanting to finish up the last call, and call it the end of a work day. Represent I may, but do any damage I do not. Ah dear sister, how many minds do you wish me to seek out and read? This is suppose to deal with your tellie, not your psychological doings. So stay after I did, my friends, and work I kept doing, past that of which would have been my release.
Droog in Distress
So I come home to see a droogie sending me a message of distress. Appears her heart been smashed like a bad pair of eggiwegs. How distressing it would be, so that I would pick up the tellie and give fellow droog a call, to do the comforting of sorts. But the comforting would have to go both ways, aye. Finding out the job security which had blanketed me like a calm unmuddied lake would turn ravage like a bunch of players united in a bunch of the ultraviolence. So it would be double comfort. A fine set of everything now.
My eyes grew weary, dear friends, as your humble narrator would find sleepness grasp the very blood that gives yours truly life. At such a tender young timage as well. However, the void was filled through the use of technology, the steel giant who has molded monstrosity from virtue. So this monstrosity known as ICQ, would light the way down my dreary path of ultraslumber, and breath back into me for a small time to come, until that final blow that renders yours truly, Madd, to be forced into the world of his own secerts.
Visions of Disillution
So what did I have to say to myself anyway? Oh tales of people, with many peni, to be shown on the tube, and wondering how the use of the word "fuck" could and would make it to prime time, along with semi naked people, laying about on the shore of some watery place. Only to have the images charge forth into a schoolie setting, with a massive project that I would be consumed by. Something of an X-Files image comes to mind, and me sitting there, by a window, looking out, waiting to have a certain person sit next to me so that I could toss them out, down below, to plummet to their demise. Only moments later, would I wakie.
Come Enter the Narrator
So there I go, starting my day out in standarized fasion. To the electronic mostrosity, who had to be put to temporary sleep. The noise that came from her metal belly was not that of a pleasent one and me gulliver was more than certain to tell me so. Things would go mundainly until yours truly, would take a strange trip and the old narrator all have come to know would personate outside his usual realms and make way for me. The music would help transpose an otherwise calm mood, into that which can be called, and recognised as quixotic state. Said so, for in the distant past, I do remember a similar state, only magnified many times fold, which droogies would back away, not recognizing he who speaks of it now. I gollie venture, I would say, to help cope with the inevitable. Something sorely understood, my brothers and sisters. This personna to understand the filtering process, unlike the poor chap before me. Some times the best way to finish a coding process, is to take little trips to the outer parts of your existance, and shed your current Reality for something completely different. Let it flow out from deep within, so that you can see yourself from the opposite shoe. Maybe change a thing or two if you will.
Bright Search of Darkness
I rather enjoy the darkness... it helps to erase the ultraviolence that has built up of late. While I claim no originality to that of which I use, I would like to thank dear Alex, whom I have not visited in a long time, in how things have constructed thus far. It is not a time of depression, nay, but a time of searching deep inside, as our old narrator would take a slight leave of absense. Be not the fault of any one being, nor one Reality, but the ultrasearch of knowing all of the 13.