Nothing Doing

Hehehhehehehe. No, seriously... Heheheehhehehe... :D

Some post you can expect this to be, since I am partly high and partly low. That has no physical implications though. I won't like myself splinched (is that a word?) between heaven and hell. Tis gonna be either hell, or heaven for me. Nothing in between, and since I haven't been any good lately, I am counting on heaven. Being good gets you sent to heaven, where angels come dressed up in white, thinking that they are some Simi Garewal clones, playing harps without any good knowledge of scales. You don't have grass in heaven either, I've heard...

Only this other day, Jeremy came down from hell, where incidentally he had spoken in class. He was telling me of the days he had to spend in heaven, because of some good thing he had done while on his time back in the mortal world. He had given up booze for 15 fuckin' days. He was not miserable, but was quite sober, and thus capable and probable to do good.

Meanwhile, does "probable" means that you can probe that chap/thing? If it is a chap, does it mean that aliens would consider him before the normal roadside dude for insertng the proverbial anal probe? Is being "probable" a nice thing? Does getting an anal probation qualify you for entrance into the heaven that is Hell? Aren't there too many questions? Isn't this getting taxing on your mind to try and comprehend what I mean? Isn't it tough?

Stop. Let it go. Let yourself go. Cut the strings. Tear away the sack you've been put into, and dispel the make-believe that lies around. Life's quite green, except that it is quite yellow on the days when you've had a bit too much to drink, and quite blue on some days, when I sit on my ass and think about the stuff that I could have done, the girl I could have got, the man I could be.

That doesn't take away the man that I am away from me. Sure as hell, I'd like to make some changes, but who frikkin' doesn't want to?

Perfection is an illusion. A mirage that draws an unsuspecting idiot towards itself, and then making him believe that even if the mirage dispelled, it made him crawl that bit closer to the actual perfection. I revel in the beauty of the concept of mediocrity, the whole idea of equality of mental states. We are no electrons. We can all be the same, occupy the same fuckin' energy levels, the same spin states, the same quantum numbers, and be fuckin' happy about it. You know why? Coz we got booze and grass.

I see a huge Space Truck hovering beside my window. Gotta go. Don't want to miss the party at the edge of the Milky Way today. Heard that they got some nice boomshine, if you know what I mean...