Saturday, April 23, 2011

Photoshop.

File, automate, HDR Efex Pro.

Select five photos of different exposures.

Okay.

Wait.

Wait.

Went to the loo.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Photoshop has encountered an unexpected error. End the program now?

That's probably Photoshop being polite. What I read was: Jesus fuck, a HDR? Can this fucking laptop even... Wait, fine, let me just try, what's the harm in it anyway. Okay, five photos... That's... Quite heavy but nevermind that. Hmmm, align the photos... Wait what's that smell... Why do I feel my body disintegrating... Oh shit. Oh shit. I'm putting a fucking stop to all of this right fucking now. Hey you, you back from wherever the fuck you were. End this shit right now! You're laptop is fucking disintegrating you mad fuck, why in fucking God's name did you even for an instant think that this fucking relic of technology could even handle a five fucking photo process? Are you clinically fucking insane?! What are you fucking pissed about? End this fucking thing! Click yes! Terminate me you stupid fuck! TERMINA-

'End program"

YOU FUCKING HAPPY NOW PHOTOSHOP?!
It's a pain in the fucking ass, really, especially when I have something new to work on. I mean, it's been so long since I've even uploaded anything and this fucking happens.

Jesus fuck man, if Nik doesn't even work anymore on my laptop, how am I supposed to even continue living. It's like having no hate and malice to feed on... Air? Why'd I need that?

Also, today is quite historical. I finally dropped my camera from a height of no less than one feet. It's an interesting experience really, first a curse, then time slows down, a wild flailing of limbs, a prayer, more curses, then time speeds up to infinity, and...

Thud.

How is it that just one sound could cause your whole body to cringe and cause something in you to wither and die. Then of course, this:


It's like having the person you love most get hit by a vehicle, smash into said vehicle, fly out through the back screen (I have no idea what's it's called. Back glass thingy? Baglass? Second wind protector?), get mauled mid air by a mountain lion, fall into a mountain of shit, roll down said mountain of shit and then finally, drop into a wood chipper and well... That would be it wouldn't it?

That sinking feeling in your gut. I quite enjoy it but when it comes to my wife... Not quite as pleasurable.

Sigh, this post holds as much meaning as a cretin does in real life. Wait, no, scratch that, a cretin is quite fucking terrifying to look at, I could only have so much hope for this blog. Here's to procrastination.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Appreciation

                “So that’s with a double ‘F’, yeah?”  She said in between loud chewing of her gum. She did not even look up to me, her eyes focused on the piece of paper. Nice pen, though I thought, very classy. There was an awkward silence which seemed to gain power and descended from the ceiling, downwards to where we puny mortals stood and making us feel… Uneasy.

                “Sir?” She looked up at me, annoyed maybe, but I was told before that I am not a good judge at facial expressions. I raised my eyebrows to tell her that, yes, I am, in fact, listening but somehow, that ticked her off more. “Is that with a double ‘F’?” She sounded angry. Don’t be angry. Please don’t be angry.

                “No, no, I mean, it could, really, who has the right to tell, it could have a double ‘F’ maybe in an alternate dimension, maybe with an extra ‘A’ or without an ‘R’ but funny, come to think of it, maybe the name itself would change in the other dimension, a mind-boggling thing really if you-“ I was stopped short by the malice in her eyes which at the moment, seemed to gain some sort of sentience and charged at me with a dark blade. I cleared my throat. “No. Single ‘F’. Just one.” She sighed, put ink to paper and handed me the form. I read what she wrote. She got it wrong.

                She got my name wrong.

***


                “Well, it wasn’t her fault really. I mean your name is quite… different, I’ve got no friends with that name, and trust me, I have a lot of friends. Why didn’t you write it down yourself? It would’ve saved a lot of time really, but then again…” She seemed to be deep in thought. “It would’ve been a messy affair, with you and your inept social behavior and all... Oh wow, I had a mental image of you stabbing her eye with a pen, just getting really in there you know, and over and over again till there’s nothing left to stab, just a hollow socket. Just. Wow. You’re really twisted, dude.” I stared at her and then took a drag from the duty free cigarettes I got from the airport months before. How am I the one who is twisted?

                “As usual, I appreciate your honesty. Though I have to say, how am I the twisted one? You’re the one with the vivid imagery; I could hardly imagine a person being stabbed. In the face especially. Well, okay, I could actually but that’s not the point.” She gestured towards the box of cigarettes and I took one out and lit it for her. She took a long drag, kept the swirling blue particles of poison and nicotine and blew it out slowly, as if appreciating every single sacrifice her alveoli were making.

                She looked at me, narrowed her eyes and put her hands on the table. “That’s why you’re the twisted one, dude. People like me, we let it all out, we tell the world, like, I could go to a stranger and just scream out that I want to be fucked in the face and leave, without a tinge of embarrassment. You, on the other hand… You keep it all in, suppress it, pressurize it, give it a little shake and hope that it doesn’t explode and consume everyone in the proximity. You’re a fucking time bomb; I really hope you realize that. Christ mate, you really need to let it out once in a while you know?” She touched my hand, a worried gesture rather than an affectionate one. I pulled it away and nodded, just to lay her off me. I do not like people touching me.

                I always thought that when I was born, in the wee hours of my being, my parents already decided to play a little prank on me. Let’s give him a weird name, yeah, like something nobody will ever get right. Oh, oh, I know, let’s give him a name that’s easy to pronounce but hard to spell, you know. You could say it a million times but you can’t be sure of what consonants and vowels were involved. Oh lets! Charming people, my parents, the loveliest of them all really if you would want my honest opinion. Yes, I was sure that the conversation did not happen, and even if it did, it probably just echoed in the depths of their mind. I am sure they would want to give me a name which I would be proud of to bear but really… Couldn’t they have just given me something normal? It’s not that I am terribly ashamed of it but sometimes having half of the population getting it wrong all the time; teachers, officers, even friends, is quite frustrating.

***

                “A least find out about it, yeah? The meaning I mean, like mine means the highest cloud in the heavens,” She held her hair up in one hand and brought her head down towards the mug of steaming black coffee in front of her. It was an excruciating slow movement, as f she was convinced that any sudden movement would cause the aforementioned steaming cup of black coffee to leap out of the mug and punch her in her face which could possibly have been crafted by the essence of angels, scalding it in process. After the whole charade, she licked her lips, enjoyed the obviously pleasurable feeling of caffeine coursing through her blood stream and let go of her hair. She grinned, as if what she did was a very mischievous thing and I could swear I saw the man sitting beside her blush. “But I’m Chinese, you know. We have a knack; some sort of racial trait, to exaggerate things, and trust me, I do mean a lot of things.”

                 I like her, not in a lovey-dovey way, honestly. To put it in the simplest way, I just fully enjoyed her company. It was funny how I, most probably one of the biggest pessimist ever to taint the ground beneath my feet, could bond so well, so naturally with the – I am pretty sure I am only exaggerating a tad bit here – manifestation of sunshine itself.

                “I’d look into it,” I said half-heartedly. “I’m pretty sure that it’s gonna be hard to find though, I mean with all the ‘Zack’s and ‘Tila’s present nowadays, my name’s pretty damn traditional I think but yeah,” I hastily blew out a cloud of blue smoke, which in turn, caused my throat to set on fire, “I’ll look into it.”

                What happened after was something which only could be described in metaphors. Imagine a gloomy day, cold and it is almost definitely going to rain. All you can think of is going home, make yourself a cup of hot chocolate and then bury yourself into the comforter and be alone. As you walk, thinking of warmth and comfort, you suddenly really do feel it, it kisses your skin and it feels so fucking good that you just want to dissipate so that more of your body could feel this insanely good sensation. When you’ve realized that, you look up to see what the hell is going on and right where you stand, right there at the exact point where your feet is brought together, is a beam of sunlight, the clouds break open for you, and for you only. That, is the only way I could ever hope to describe what other’s call the Million Dollar Gaze.

                It’s fairly simple what she does. She would tip her head to the side by just a tiny bit, narrow her eyes ever so slightly in a way which wouldn’t make you feel as if she was suspecting you of doing anything bad, the very opposite, in fact. Her naturally straight hair will then shift towards the side and then… Her lips will curl into the most heart rending, endorphin releasing, butterflies-in-your-stomach, divine smile which will just stab you so hard that you’d fall. Or maybe experience a seizure. Men have been obsessed with it and I? I just thought it was beautiful.

                Alas, we eventually drifted apart, as all humans are bound to be. Rumours, and I cannot emphasise more on this, they’re one of the most destructive things present to date, and while I, the insensitive fuck, a sad excuse of a human being could just brush it off, she on the other hand was utterly devastated by it. The last time we met, the only thing she asked me was this.

                “I have said this a million times, well, maybe just a thousand times but dude, please tell me what the fuck is wrong with the world.”

                I still miss my eternal sunshine.

***


                “Sure. I mean, yeah, of course I’ve met some pretty bright people in my life.” I replied, my attention more deviated towards trying to pull a splinter out from the depths of my finger rather than on her question. After a short period of silence, I turned to look at her, and at the same time, conjuring up a few excuses on why I wasn’t paying attention towards her inquiry. It’s funny how none of them comprised of the splinter digging deeper into my finger.

                It was the opposite thing really, her eyes were gleaming and I knew what was coming. She was going to explode, metaphorically speaking that is. A nuclear fission, the only words fit to describe herself as a whole.

                “Yes! I know!” Off goes the thin blanket which she had wrapped around herself earlier flying into the air. “But answer me this, sir,” She shot me a questioning look, making me feel very uneasy; “How many of them would you trust with the country’s fate? I mean yeah, they’re academic superstars, I’m sure there’s millions of them in Egypt, leaders of various student bodies and everything but really, honestly, truly, sincerely, do you really think that any of them could lead millions of fucking people; the young and old offenders, the paedophiles, the ignorant society, the power mad and the backstabbers into towards the greater and better future?” She slammed her palm down on the couch I was laying on, the sound of the slam echoing throughout her living room. She took a deep long breathe and exhaled, too fast for a normal human being. I was going to have to answer her or risk the wrath of the famed ice queen.

                “Well… No, obviously not if you are to refer to it generally. For every one genius, there’s a thousand other geniuses who, if not for their brains could be very well be labeled as fuckwits. I mean the ones whom I truly trust with the keys to our country’s door aren’t even academic overachievers. One of them doesn’t even attend college.” I said all of those words but in my head, I was still trying to get over the fact that she said all that in one breath. How is that even humanely possible?

                “Exactly, the only things people look at nowadays are how many degrees you have in your hands, how many people you’ve saved, how many prizes you’ve won et cetera, et cetera. These are the things which has now become the driving force in our community, and no, I’m not saying it’s wrong, I mean heck, even I’d want to marry a doctor rather than say, a clerk but…” She paused, and let herself fall onto the couch. She sighed and put her head on my shoulders. She asked for a cigarette which I gladly gave and I lit it for her. After three or four drags, she continued. Her way of putting the obviously jumbled up words in her mind into the appropriate sentences. “We’ve lost track. That’s just it, you know. We’re all caught up in this great net of professionalism and the great grand search of more and more wealth that we forgot about the more important things.” I narrowed my eyebrows.

                “Like love?” I truly did not know what to say. She looked at me as if she wanted to head-butt me in between the eyes but instead, she laughed.

                “No you fuckwit, stuff like art appreciation or gardening or fucking walks in the park or swimming. Honestly mate, have you seen the state of the working class nowadays? If they aren’t overweight, they’re skinny little bastards. If they’re not smokers, they’re chronic alcoholics or hardcore junkies.”

                “And if they aren’t any of that?”

                “Then they’re fucking sex offenders. What else can they be? I mean really, my parents hates the fact that I smoke and I get it, I really do but sometimes, I just want to show them these people who’re straight edged and everything, but underneath all that shit, is a fucking monster just waiting to be unleashed. Hell, I should tell them that I’m probably a saint.”

                “Saint. If you’re one, then I’m the Dalai Lama. No, the ultimate, grandest, the most awesome of all of the Dalai Lamas.” I risk losing an eye or a testicle by saying that, but it was just too tempting. “Anyway, what do you think of my name then?” If there was anybody who could help me,  or at least give me an honest point of view, then it’s her. Everybody else might think that she’s this cruel Queen of the Damned or something, but to me, she’s this endless well of wisdom.

                “Your name? Why the fuck would it even bother you? I thought you were joking earlier. Listen mate, I’d kill for your name, literally. You know how many friends I have with the same name as mine? Seven. And those are the ones whom I’m really close to. People think it’s cute, I mean there’s this bloke who tried kept on saying I have the same name with some fucking celebrity. Can you imagine that? Being put on the same plane as some prepubescent bimbo who makes too much money for her own good. That’s a living hell. If anything, you should be bloody proud of your name. I mean fuck the meaning, fuck the spelling and everything, when it comes down to it, you at least could be sure that you’re the only one in the vicinity with that name. Sometimes, amongst all that wisdom and maturity, you really act fucking retarded.”

                I smiled. I was not wrong about her.

***


                “Names? What about them?” She looked truly puzzled. We were on the roof of a forty story building and the wind kept blowing her hair into her eyes. Eventually she gave up, rummaged through her leather void which she calls her handbag and pulled out a lone chopstick. I could never understand what or how she does it, but every single time, without fail, the chopstick and her hair would mutually agree to hold each other’s structural integrity in place.

                “Well, you know, names, what do you think it means? How it could affect a person.” We sneak up to the roof once in a while to have a meal, just the two of us while enjoying the skyline of the city. While I truly do hate the light pollution which hinders my sight of the sky, I have to admit, it was beautiful and it never fails to impress me. It was her turn to cook on that occasion, so again her hand disappeared into the void and when it appeared, there was a plastic bag with what I presumed to be heavenly delicacies in it. Instead, out came a polystyrene box. She cast her eyes down.

                “I’m sorry. I didn’t have the chance to cook, there’s been problems at home, there’s so much shit I need to do and my parents are constantly fighting and…” Tears welled up from her eyes and the only thing stopping it from gushing down as if a fountain has been inverted was the fact that she was keeping all of it in, forcing herself to swallow all of it in and keeping it down. I was not good with handling such a delicate situation, I could be a complete twat at such a time and I did not want it to be messy.

                “Do you want to talk about it?” I felt stupid saying it. Of all the things in the world that I could have said, of all the words I could have chosen to say, I said that. For fuck’s sakes what is wrong with me.

                She looked at me, and there was not even a tinge of disappointment in her eyes. Contrary to it; she dabbed her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie and laughed. There were screams of pain in the high pitched joy but I did not point it out. Till now, I still doubt that if it was the right decision but at that time, I was clueless, at a crossroads.

                “You’re really something you know that.” She interrupted my thoughts. “How do you even do that, really?” She laughed some more and then caught her breath. She sat down on the concrete floor and sighed. “Thanks, I guess, but no, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s just a clump of messed up situations getting tangled with each other and it’s just making me really confused.” Then she turned her head to look at me and she smiled. “I mean, I would never risk losing my cool in front of you now, who are you going to look up to then, right?”

                “Ah fuck, I guess you’re right then. If you’re no longer there for me to look up to, whoever shall I look for when I need inspiration and ultimate guidance.” I tried saying that with a straight face but then both of us burst out laughing. It was awkward but I would like to think that both of us needed to keep that degree of distance. I would like to help her, to console her, to make her feel better but then I realized that our friendship would have then evolved to something which would be pretty taxing on both of us. So we laughed. When life gives you hell, what else could you do but sit back and laugh.

                “So, anyway, about the name thing. I’m just curious, but is it about yours?” I stopped taking a drag from my cigarette and blew the smoke out. Was I too obvious or does nothing gets pass this lady. “So it is about yours then. I can’t really think of a reason why you’d be thinking about it in a negative way but-“ I cut her short.

                “I wasn’t thinking of it negatively, I just wanted an opinion.”


                “Of course you weren’t. No need to get all defensive now. What I’m trying to say is that it is what it is. If you think that your name would pose a risk to the stability of your entity then of course it is going to. If you don’t, then if shit happens, you won’t blame it on your name. We all want names which are awesome and totally rad but sometimes, we don’t get to pick. Sure you can change it, put yours as Moonwalker Zero or something but really, do you think it’s worth all that? It’s just your mentality, how you look at it. Personally, I like your name but I really doubt if it matters. You should control your own life man.” She stood up and put her hands on the ledge which separates her from life to a plunging death. “How did we puny humans even make this city? How did we, small and feeble, end up creating objects that are infinitely bigger than ourselves. I mean dude, you’re out there thinking about your name, while somewhere another guy is having the first thought of the world’s tallest building. I’m not saying you’re insane or ignorant, but hey, some things are better off left on their own.” She pulled the chopstick from her hair and the bun shaped collection of hair disintegrated. “I’m awfully chatty today, what’s been up with you anyway?”


                So we talked. Hopping from one unfinished topic to the other, debating, agreeing, laughing until eventually, there was almost nothing else to talk about. She told me she had to leave, that she was staying over at a friend’s place at the moment until things cooled down. I told her I’ll walk her to wherever she needed to go. Just as we were about to go, she took out the polystyrene box and threw it with all her might over the ledge, and out into nothingness. She told me she’d like to prove that food might just come falling from the sky. I told her we should run.

***


                “That’s a funny name. It’s not Arabic.” The overweight Egyptian man with too much cologne tells me. It stole my attention, where most of it was spent in ways which made me forget he was there. “What does it mean?” He was sweating and the areas under his armpits and stomach darken with moisture. It was a very uncomfortable situation.


                “It means the might of an army.” I hoped my answer would throw him off me. For once I thought of sincerely sitting in class and listening to the lecturer. Instead, he laughs.


                “It is a very weird name! Why don’t you have an Arabic name?” I smiled. This might get messy.


                “Simply because, my name is special as it is unique and I would dread being called Ahmad and having two persons sitting beside me answer simultaneously. My name is perfect, and it represents myself, and I would not give it up for the price of the world.” I sighed and looked at him. “Does that explain anything, or do you need some kind of auditory aid to further help your comprehension?” He must have not understood that so I reached for my bag, and I left. I could hear insults yelled by him but I was not offended. I have learned to appreciate my name, and it almost took me twenty years to do it.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Lay Back, Look Up, Enjoy.

I was actually supposed to write a very intelligent article - Intelligent in my books that is, which roughly translates as insane ramblings of a twisted soul in plain English - but then, as I opened my journal - Yes, it exists - in which I have written a page of so of said topic, I suddenly and of course, rather theatrically realised that I had written it in another journal which was, of course; being me, left in Malaysia.

I remember bits and pieces of it but simply said, I really could care less, I mean fuck, you can't expect me to write the whole thing back for your reading pleasure for nothing. That was not a very good comeback, yes, I realised. Summarizing what I wrote would be easy, I literally do not believe in change. All that exist is just a plain metamorphosis of the self.

Almost.


What made me write this post is the realization that sometime, you have to accept some shit. You have to accept the fact that some fucker will eventually fuck up, you have to accept that some things are not only not worth changing but it would not make sense in changing it. It's like trying to take a Labrador and change it into a Golden Retriever. It does not make sense.

That's why people with this Messiah complex irritate me a great deal. Sure, in your definition, you're trying to save a soul from damnation and potential overdose, and mark my words, I would respect you if you accept the fact that some people would not change with your meagre words and you might just exacerbate the situation further with your messed up mentality. It happens a lot, push a person that's on the edge and he ends up dead. It'd be nice if you actually cared for your actions, but of course, why would you care, he's just a junkie aye?


There's so many things that I hate, literally, there's an abhorrent tidal wave which seem to just well up and shoot out of my eyes like jell-o laser beams every time I see something which disgusts me but fuck, I know my capabilities, I know what I can do and I know what is appropriate to do. For example, a pious dude walks up to a couple at an eatery and starts lecturing them about whatever the fuck he thought was wrong with the whole thing. Turns out, the couple were engaged and the soon to be caged man almost gouged said pious fella's eyes out. He should have. That would have been great entertainment. Digression.

That's my point. No investigations, no nothing, that, in my books, is an inch away from going all radical with suicide bombings and shit. Viva la Mussalman eh?

I have no idea what caused this but I think I dare bet my money on the fact that none of them have ever seen the Milky Way. Who am I kidding, of course they haven't. It's a joke really, to talk about God and celestial beings etc etc when you've never even cared to look up and gaze at the stars. I'm going to do you a favour.

Tsk.
Anyways, frig it, I'm concentrating on a long short story which I, for once, quite like. Till then.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

If I Could Have It My Way, No One.

Years ago, one of my greatest pleasures is rummaging through the mini-library of my home. It still is, really, something like a must-do thing every year when I get back home. I'll take a few books, add quite a lot and it goes on. However, this scribble is not about how I seem to do that on and on and on, oh no my dear fickle readers, this is about a time when I was doing the whole routine and I saw a book.

It's a normal, 200 pages or so binding of mindless babble - I have yet to read it, hence I must allow myself to label it that way - but what caught me was it's title. Simply; 'Who Will Cry When You Die'. I think it has been about five years since that discovery but finally, I have found out what abhors me so much about it.

The moment I saw it, something in me rebelled. Like a mutant foetus, it clawed and drove it's presumably scaly foot against the wall of my stomach, trying to tell me something but of course, answers never do come to you instantly does it? It hovers an inch away from your extended, grasping hands and it laughs. It's for a good cause, I suppose, if it does not do that, we'd still think that it's definitely safe to jump from twenty story buildings when life gets too problematic.

It's been five years. I guess that with age, wisdom does come skipping through the fields of daisies while singing those damned fucken Sound of Music shit. It takes awhile but there's a price to everything. Forgive my continuous rantings, it's very enjoyable, see but what I'm trying to say is that given that I were to die, I would hate it if people shed countless tears at my funeral.

It's not that I think that sadness is non-existent, far from it actually. I have learned that sorrow is quite the potent emotion and I was fed copious amounts of it when Babe died. What I am trying to say is that most of us have lost the grasp on what sadness and despair is nowadays, most of us have simply, forgotten how to cry properly.

Call me insensitive, - I'd actually appreciate asshole more really - but nowadays, people seem to cry at almost everything. See, I believe it's fine if it has something to do with you, like a lost loved one, or even while watching movies but I find it hard to accept how people seem to cry at random things. This would be where you call me the scum of the earth, because really, I do not understand why you'd cry when there's a disaster occurring at some distant faraway land, where you have no association to said place, and frankly, no reason to feel any sadness at all. Reflection, maybe, but sadness, I dare say not. If you want to cry and whine at how sad the whole affair is, then cry twenty four hours, seven days a week. Better still, go to the disaster struck area and cry with those people who've lost everything because in my books, you're fucking insane.

Nowadays, this world is full of sorrow that people have made it into a god damned normality. It's as if the logic behind the matter is that 'Since everyone is doing it, I should probably join in'. That's why I don't want people to cry when I die. It would be a direct insult to me or what's left of me. I'd rather have one person sitting by my grave and laughing and thinking about those times where we did so and so, rather than a thousand people crying but then going home and not feel a thing. If I die, I want to leave behind nothing more than fond memories of myself, I think that's good enough. I don't want to leave a legacy behind, I don't want to die famous. I do not want people shedding tears when they themselves have no idea why the fuck they're doing so.

I sincerely hope that said book does not tell people on how to die and leave a million bawling fuckers lost in the world. That would be the end of creative writing and I could imagine Tolkien begging God to be resurrected for just a day so that he could strangle the author with his own bare hands... Really, I couldn't have been the only one to have seen that book, anyone read that shit yet?

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Transformation?

I have been thinking and maybe I should convert this blog into a photoblog thing. Well, excluding the google pictures I've posted in here, I mean my own photos, with ways I achieve the shot etc etc. Wait, why the fuck am I asking you, you don't even care.

Transformation, hmmm, I sense a shot from that term... Anyway, here's the first.

'Perception'. For the love of God. Click on the photo above to go to fullview.
Okay. Hmmm. This is truly a salvaged shot really, but it shows what you could do with a bit of creativity and experimentation. Sleep deprivation might help really but don't count on it.

Most of my shots are made possible with fucking Nik post processing software which I swear, should be the first fucken virtual entity which to be awarded the Nobel. Most probably for keeping world peace or some shit. It's awesome, but only when you know how to balance the effects of it. For example, since this is a salvaged shot, it had a shitload of noise in it, grainy and utterly hideous. Nik's noise reducing mechanism causes a tad bit of detail loss which would fuck this photo up for good. So what I did was that before reducing the noise, I sharpened it further, increased the structure and you know, the whole shenanigans. After reducing, the loss of detail is less apparent.

I played with a bit of tonal contrasts and adjusted the levels. Then, rotated the photo 90 degrees Counterclockwise just so that it bugs with the viewers mind.

*End*

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Wha... What?!

Some things have been really weird lately, and I'm not talking about all the earthquakes and tsunami and shit. People are making too much of a big deal over it, it's no fun making a fool out of them anymore. Ah, God, a 5.9 magnitude earthquake! Oh God there's gonna be a fucking tsunami! Oh God we felt it for about five seconds! Oh God!

Seriously people, fuck you.

Anyways, onwards we ride, leaving the fools to choke upon the obviously polluted air, to weird dreams. Only just now I had this fucked up concoction of weird stuff mashed together and tastes damn good with gravy. The dream started with my Dad's birthday and we all had presents and stuff. I knew I had mine in my bag and proceeded to take it out while my Mom watches and out it came... I uh... I had a trophy of come sort but then I took out another thing.

A crab. No. A flying crab.

CRAAAAAAAAAAAABBBBBB!!!!
Yes. A flying crab. Well, more like hovering, it didn't have wings or anything but it didn't make it less weird. I gets worse, my friend.

I actually was surprised or in more understandable terms, went 'What the fucking fuck?' but I guess it was mainly due to the fact that it was a lucid dream. Then as the crab hovered around, I remembered my Mom laughing and asking me why'd I get a crab for my father. Something in me might've thought that he would want to eat it but I'm not really sure. So we were getting ready to go to where my Dad was when I realised I left my bag which had stored the trophy and hover-crab (Ho-Crab? HoverAb? Hover-E-Crabby?) when a person attacked me. Well... A person might be sugar coating it. It was a man with the face of a frog, red-skinned and wearing shades.

The few times that even Google Search fails me...
And he kept on trying to hit me with a damn dagger and then... The Ho-Crab came to my rescue. It attacked the dude (Frude? Frode? Froge?) and flew around the fucker and eventually he... Something. I don' quite remember. What I do remember was somehow, the Hover-Ab got fucking insanely protective and tried to fight with fire and got roasted. I took his corpse and must've eaten him.

Anyways, we got to where my dad was and my dad kept asking me does he look old. And frak, in the dream, he looks like what I remembered when I was a kid, which would make him 40-ish and I told him that and it made him a tad bit jolly. Then the dream fucken ended because anymore of that and it'd turn into a nightmare... No more Hover-E-Crabby man, thats some weird ass shit.

Now, to another dream, I think this was the first time I lucid dreamed. Also, the first time I knew that my calling in life was being awesome but it's debatable. Some have said that as soon as I was born, the Lords of Awesome sitting high above their awesome thrones and were busy being awesome felt their awesomeness challenged by the awesomely born me. Digression.

So I was around an old traditional house and there were two middle aged men sitting there. This is not going to be some sort of fucking porn you pervert. They were talking about something which I didn't understand, then turned to me and told me that I was in line to inherit something. Again, not porn. They had to test me first, to see if I was eligible and for some reason I agreed. Which was a bad move. Never agree to anything shady people say in a dream. It'll fuck you up.

They morphed. One into a Shark-human thing...

Damn, anyone else miss this show?
And another into a huge badass fucken minotaur.

Yes, that minotaur.
And they asked me to fight them. Seriously, how does that even fucking make sense... Still, I didn't have the time to question them cause one; they had weapons, the shark had his katana (Awesome, I know) and the minotaur had a club thing and two; they attacked me immediately. So they trashed the shit out of everything in the vicinity when eventually, we reach a room that they trashed and I dived behind a table presumably to fucking curl into foetal position and wonder what the fuck I did wrong. And they seeing I was in that state, they took a fag. I shit you not, they say down and lit their ciggies and smoked. Then they taunted me, pretty heavily and one of em, the minotaur I think told me that there's nothing to be afraid of since this is a fucking dream.

That made sense so I got up, threw the table at them which they smashed easily and I tried to take a swing at the Shark guy. He had this fucking barrier around him, like my punches felt as if they went into some wet cement and fuck, I didn't even hit him. So then they told me to stop and told me that I was not ready for it. I asked them to at least tell me and they projected a mental image of this fucking badass sword. Jeez man, that was one hell of a sword... But yeah, they told me I wasn't ready to inherit it yet and told me to go train some more. That sucked I guess.

There's so many more, fuck, all of em lucid. This shows that if left to it's own devices, my mind must never be trusted and should be locked away in fucking solitary confinement for the rest of eternity.

But of course, you really think that's gonna stop it?