Having nothing to say is one of the ecstacies of the modern world. If you have nothing to say, nobody bothers you. And life is beautiful.
But this.. blogging.. is supposed to allow us to say something. What if the problem is that I can't think of anything to say? Well, maybe I should stop mindfucking you and fuck off. Maybe that I'll think of something. Nah, who am I kidding. I can write and write nonsense for days and not come to an end. Meandering is an art, a genteel art that must be mastered. So is mindfucking, and the two sometimes go hand in hand.
Let's have at a poem.
There was once a mighty institution
Full of knowledge and miscommunication.
The professors loomed almighty in their power
While all the students try to look innocent, and cower.
And so the whole situation screw'd sour.
The mornings were toast, the afternoons a mess.
The evenings passed by in clearing the cess.
And by night we nursed muscles exceedingly sore,
And tried to catch up on our assignments which were a bore.
And did it get anywhere, I can bloody well ask.
If I didn't like to in boredom bask,
And so I decided to fuck everything and at last, opened up of the pure a cask.
And decided to take my un-inebriation to task.
Again the cycle begins and inspiration runs out;
Like a stomach suffering from dysentry and our skin's got a deadly pall.
There's no energy, none at all; all we do is live,
And at night, we fall.
Not very cheerful. So you see, in so many lines, I actually never reached anywhere.
But you should be proud, y'know you've reached somewhere. At last, I'm sure.
You've seen the light.
You've reached the end. C'est fin.