If there’s anything 2001: A Space Odyssey has taught me, it’s that black boxes(excluding coffins) evoke curiosity. There’s a mystery behind them(may include coffins). For some people, it evokes a little fear(definitely coffins).
But there’s nothing to fear about my new black box, a.k.a Cajón. It is a percussion instrument made of wood. It doubles as a short stool. In fact, you have to sit on it while you play, a sort of musical bonding between wood and ass.
This is not what it sounds like. This is a bad recording of the black box.
I feel like the term “weird” is being thrown around a lot lately. I use it a lot to describe myself. It’s become a hip thing to say, “I’m weird” or “you’re weird”. Similarly there’s the “I’m bad at math” or “I suck at cooking” brags. I think it’s awesome that people are willing to reveal their negatives and joke about it, but does everything you think is weird really qualify as weird? As a grown, 28 year old straight male, I’ve been thinking about some really weird shit lately 🙂 .
The other day I was watching an interview and it suddenly crossed my mind that my cousins never let me paint their nails. It hurt me a little bit. I thought to myself, why didn’t they ever let me do it?. Did they think I’ll screw it up? I mean, my hands had the precision of automated-computer-chip-manufacturing-machines(I might have a little Parkinson’s now). I used to do Yoga like a pro. No one could beat me at dodge ball (this rant right here, qualifies as weird).
Unfortunately, I can’t reveal all my weirdness here because I’m paranoid about my sister reading this blog anonymously. WordPress says there’s a lot of traffic to this blog from the country where she’s at. I love her, but she’s a little unstable.
“Facebook is a mirror. Everybody’s super pumped about blaming other people for their own shit. Technology is exposing who you are. Not changing you. Facebook is a mirror.”
“Why should you be nice to people who serve you? The obvious answer is ‘being nice is part of being human’. However, I can also imagine the thoughts that go through the minds of some of the waiters and barbers. Fun fact- both wield the power to kill you. I can’t believe people still go to spas man.”
Today I stumbled upon something called Foie gras on the internet.
Wikipedia defines it as-
A luxury food product made of the liver of a duck or goose that has been especially fattened. By French law, foie gras is defined as the liver of a duck or goose fattened by force-feeding corn with a feeding tube, a process also known as gavage.
Here’s one more reason why we humans are still classified as “animals” rather than something progressive like “The engineers” or “The centurions”. I mean, I love meat but common man! What’s next? Camel dick? If any Foie gras lover finds this post offensive, consider this an open invitation to email me your place of choice to meetup. I will fight you. Wait a second, for a moment I thought this was Reddit. Sorry for the aggressive behaviour.
These sculptures were built by people before me, at a different time, at a different place. They thought differently, they ate differently, they fucked differently, or maybe they didn’t. Did they build these sculptures out of devotion? Or did they build it for money? What did they do with the money? What did they do to relax? What was their life like? How did they live without a phone? How did they order food? If I went back in time and met them, will they accept me into their society? Or will I remain a recluse there too? Did people suffer from depression back then? What did they do to cope? How did they deal with death? Was it just a funeral, and then move on? What was friendship like? If I made them listen to Megadeth, will they stone me to death? How about Deep Purple? Everyone likes Deep Purple! Will they dance to Deep Purple? Will they like a burger? How about ice cream? Movies? Will I fuck up their mind? Tinder? How about Tinder? What if I show them pictures of outer space? Will they teach me something I don’t know? Like, how to read people’s body language? I would love to get a beer with someone from prehistoric times.
If you suffer from depression, and you feel like it’s a part of who you are, then there’s no point fighting it. There’s no point avoiding it either. You should work with it. Realize that there’s nothing wrong in treating it. I treat mine with intense workouts, forced-socialising and KFC.
As you might have guessed, it’s best if you stop reading my blog right now. The amount of unqualified advice I give, frightens me.
Three days is not a long time if you think about it
But three days is what I’ve been through
Three days, I cannot forget
Three days, they haunt me, they keep me awake at night
Like a weight on my chest, three days pull me down
Three days, I wept without hope
Three days, I could not cope
Three days is a nightmare, get it out of my head
Three days is what made me fall
Three days is all it takes to loose it all
The inspiration for writing this poem came from loosing internet connectivity for three days. Tragic events like these tend to pull us down heavily. But it is our job to pull ourselves back up. For more poems based on loss and depression checkout, “Goodbye, Xbox” and “HR dept., a house of lies” by Curiosity.
*The author shall not be held responsible for trauma/heartache