Deck the halls with booze and trinkets.

Fa la la la la la la - Fuck. Off.

This is what my usual Christmas spirit is like. This year, however, I was a little more optimistic seeing as this big lug has finally found someone to spend Christmas with, rather than wallowing over the last relationship which ended just before December as in both the previous two years.

I'm just going to say that I'm thankful for all the little things I should be thankful for and all the people which made this year so much better. Including, of course, the people who will continue to make the season special up until the new year. A new year which is very highly anticipated.

I hope you've had a brilliant time and will continue to do so in the coming few days, good interwebz.

Original Sin

[I've never written an essay like this before and I actually like how it came out, even if I don't necessarily think the quality is very high. Enjoy.]

Original Sin

"But how can we be born with it?" asked Owen. "We didn't do anything wrong!"

"We are cleansed of the original sin when we are baptized, Owen. If you live your life in Jesus' footsteps and follow his teaching, you will meet him in heaven after you leave this life." replied Fr. Patrick notably frustrated.

It wasn't the first time that Owen had questioned his teachers, even at the young age of 6. He would often be punished for insolence during his daily religion lessons, which wasn't surprising considering he went to a Church school renowned for its strictness. He pressed on, however, his inquisitive nature disallowing him from simply accepting all he was told, like all his classmates did. There was one particular thing he could never accept though, the original sin. How could God who is a supposedly merciful and loving creator curse humanity with pre-existential sin?

"Why do you believe everything written in the Bible?" Owen once dared to ask the ancient Fr. Patrick one day when he was 10. This got him the most severe caning he had ever endured. From that day on, Owen swore to never stop asking questions and that he would find out why.

"What of all the children born in non-Christian communities?" he would ask in his late teens during his High School religion lectures. He was made fun of by his peers for having religion as an advanced subject and he couldn't bring himself to make friends within his course because he hated them all for sitting there and accepting everything. Couldn't they think for themselves? How could they just sit there and be insulted? Why didn't they ever ask any questions? As far as he was concerned, they were all being told that they were born sinners and the only way to salvation is blind faith in a glorified and uncommunicative magician who everyone is afraid of. So afraid that they answer children's prying questions with corporal punishment.

He became a professor of theology. His lectures in the small University in which he taught were suffering from worse attendance every semester. He became more fixated with the concept of the original and unavoidable sin as time passed, which greatly contributed to the aforementioned attendance problem. With all his available resources and research, he couldn't understand why humanity subjects itself to religion in general, but Catholicism remained his main focus. It got to the point where his remaining students complained to the Dean about his irregular lectures; his rambling during said lectures; and the fact that they could never finish the syllabus because all he would really talk about was the Genesis. He was completely obsessed.

His last lecture was by far his most memorable, so much so that it had been transcribed word for word: "It's clear to me now, I finally understand. I am no longer a non-believer for, through my studies, I have been converted. I know now why God created us; why we all must believe in Him blindly and why we have to fear Him.

"I asked one question too many yesterday evening while praying for the first time in over 30 years." Here a single tear ran down his cheek as he spoke to his 4 remaining students.

"I asked Him why He created us and He told me that He was lonely. I asked Him why He makes us suffer constantly, He told me that it was because He was jealous of our love and friendships. I asked Him why He decided to talk to me now, and He told me it was because He knew I had no hope left. Finally, I asked Him why we are born into sin and why we must always fear Him and repent for everything which He tells us is wrong." At this he abruptly left the class.

His suicide note was found nailed to the crucifix which he was nailed to himself. All it said was, "Now I know." He lived alone in his apartment with no real friends or family to speak of. Nobody has managed to explain how he crucified himself, but nobody is willing to ask too many questions about it either.

[Judge me.]

Over-thinking?

"Is music a language? What defines a language? Syntax and semantics do apply to music. The syntax is in the rhythm which can be erratic as well as completely steady. Semantics lie in the notes and the names they have been given. It has its own alphabet, its own tonal qualities. Every country has its own musical dialect and songs can be in any spoken language. Perhaps the only real global language is music."

This is what I wrote down in the notes application of my phone at 1am a day or two back. I left my laptop to go to bed wide awake because I was driving myself mad. How? I was thinking. To be more specific, I was thinking too much.

I've noticed myself over-analysing everything recently. How people act; what they say; how they say it; what they really mean by it. I then dissect what they say and try and figure out whether the derivations of the particular words or phrases used were literal, metaphoric, or lost in translation over the ages. I try and pick out the particular tonal qualities possibly picking up on the hints of a dialect or an accent.

I don't really mind being analytical about life and behaviour, but I'm afraid that it will interfere with my daily life. In some cases, it already has. It's not the first time that I've been called out because it seems like I'm trying to be superior by pointing out the flaws in what someone is saying. In reality I'll be thinking aloud and they will take my stream of thoughts as calculated insult, when it will merely be observation. Up until recently I was simply passing them off as an apology or a joke whereas in reality, it was always involuntary.

What seems like a rush for superiority or some sort of mental conditioning to develop quicker wit is actually just me trying to dissect everything. I would apologise to everyone who's ever taken offence to something I've thought aloud about, but I don't have 25 years to spare. I'll be shot in 10 anyway.

Until my next rambling,

Goodnight the interwebz

Ah, how I love to mock.

Another essay for you:

There is a proposal to convert a disused farmhouse in your neighbourhood into a disco. Write a letter to your local council strongly objecting to this development and stating your reasons as to why it should be stopped.

10th September 2010

Dear Mayor,

if you are honestly taking this beautiful relic of the village and turning it into a vessel of sin, shame on you!

Did you really think that all the practising and devout Catholic residents would stand down and watch what was one a lovely home into a house of temptation? We, the residents, have discussed this matter for about ten minutes before old Mr. Mallia had to use the bathroom and we all sort of drifted off-topic. He was gone for a frightfully long time. Almost makes you wonder how lonely he must be without his wife. Who would've guessed that she would die in such a freak full-contact rugby accident? But I digress.

As I was saying, this disco thing should not be built. Think of our grandchildren coming to visit on the weekends. They will witness this drunken debauchery only a few times before they start to imitate it. They grew up in purely Catholic homes with strong faith and a strict Catholic upbringing, God knows they are sponges when it comes to picking up and emulating all they see and hear. It will be impossible to say our prayers with that hideous noise coming from just down the road. I deplore you and anyone who wants to instil this loud and unholy thing into our lives. We are all quite advanced in age and the sound will also interfere with our hearing aids.

I strongly believe that, since we Roman Catholics are, by far, morally superior to all those ruffians and Godless hooligans, we should have the final say. I urge you to do the right thing and appease us, the Lord will reward you generously.

Thank you for your patience and understanding,

Mrs Testaferrata Moroni Viani

Travel

I'll be posting my amusing essays on here just because it looks like I blog regularly.

Travel

It isn't hard to notice that the majority of all travel stories heard and read are about places enjoyed or places one "must" visit. What about the other side of the coin?

Somalia, formerly known as the "Somali Democratic Republic" when under Communist rule, is arguably the worst place on Earth. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if there was some warrant out for my life because I've had the audacity to mention Somalia in this essay. It is possible to visit, you simply need a few hundred armed guards with you so that you might just be able to escape alive, albeit raped and wounded. I think my main reason for being attracted to this war-torn nation is the piracy. Honestly now, who wouldn't want to meet a real swashbuckler? Possibly the people who have just been shot by one.

Another place that I must mention is the Democratic Republic of the Congo, mostly because I find its name ironically amusing. the sexual violence itself is considered the worst in the world; the children are either trained killers or prostitutes; and the peace treaty signed in 2003 was completely ignored to the point that there have been about five and a half million deaths attributed to unnecessary violence but, hey, at least they don't speak French. Oh, they do that too? Now I can't think of a reason why you'd want to visit. In fact, I don't see why anybody would want to. Bloody French!

Finally, my personal favourite "Democratic People's Republic", the "Stalinist Theme Park" itself, North Korea. Luckily for us Maltese, we can visit very easily, all we need it to go through about a million forms and technicalities. You have to pity anyone from the US or South Korea, which actually do have a difficult time getting in, the main difficulty being downright denial of access. Once you do get into everyone's favourite single-party state, you can start enjoying the theme park's rides. You must remember to keep your arms and legs in check at all times and to not stray away from your government-issued bodyguard because you will be shot. Everyone speaks about countries having their own history and culture, North Korea has its own version of current world news too! Good old Kim. I can't think of why not to visit.

It isn't always about dream destinations, you know. Sometimes nightmare destinations are just so much more interesting.

Darryl Bruno (14th December 1989 - 4th August 2010)

On the 4th of August, the world lost a brilliant person. Possibly one of the coolest, most down-to-earth people I have ever met. My writing can certainly never begin to justify just what an incredible person he was, but I try anyway.

I remember when I first met him when I was 11 and he was 13. I was always a geek, I was always picked on and bullied as a young 'un, but he was always cool to me. He always treated me as an equal. There were only a handful of older kids that bothered to talk to the younger ones, let alone treat the outcasts as equals, I was blown away. One might say I looked up to him, both emotionally and literally, seeing as he was a foot taller at least.

He went through so many phases since then, some more amusing than others. I remember there was a time when he used to play the trombone and he was pretty much obsessed with the village feast; then I remember his rapper phase; I also remember his DJ phase. When he left school, and I stopped seeing him twice a day, he began his "rocker" phase. Long hair, beard, guitar, drums, screaming vocals and loud music - the works.

It was in the last 3 years or so that he probably really discovered himself, seeing as he stuck with this lifestyle and made many good friends, none of which had anything negative to say about him. He was an awesome person to everyone.

I saw him a couple years later, about a year ago, and we had only spoken a little online since we stopped seeing each other but we both recognised each other. It took him about 2 minutes to come up to me yelling "AAAWWWW MATE!", in his signature fashion. I saw him maybe six time this year, the last of which being a month ago. He was looking progressively worse but I always attributed it to him being drunk and/or high. I didn't know of his more serious health problems.

Those bastards got him in the end and here we are. I can't possibly say all I would have said to him given one more opportunity to speak to him, I just know that I bawled like a little girl who just got her period at his funeral. But now let's stop mourning his death and start celebrating his life. As is written in a song by one of his favourite bands, Killswitch Engage, "I mourn for those who never knew you".

Until we meet again, I will miss you and keep you alive in my memory and in my heart Darryl, see you mate.

Goodbye?

When people ask me what I'm afraid of, I say being alone. I don't mean independence, the gods know I like that. I would give my left arm for more of it - which is ironic seeing as it would make me more dependant, but I digress.

What I mean is the feeling that you are completely alone. Sure, there are many "friends" and many people who claim to be there for you, but you know you can't really trust them. I mean loneliness. Just not being able to speak to anyone, finding yourself alone, feeling like you have nobody in the world. This is my fear.

So it really isn't a wonder why I constantly ask myself, "Why the hell do you keep pushing people away?". The answer being because I'd rather push people away than have to say goodbye because it's just the end of a friendship. I can't stand goodbyes though unfortunately, with my character flaws pushing everyone away, I have to settle for many "WELL FUCK YOU THEN"s, and I've heard more than my fair share of those.

I have nothing but a mask I hide behind to pretend to be strong. I have nobody but myself, in the end, and that is true for everyone else too. I can list so many other things to say but that would be even more boring than this already is.

Goodnight the interwebz.

A bottle of Jack and some blues.

All I want right now, nay, need ... is proper relaxation. I need to learn to kick back and go into that trance-like state that is more commonly referred to as apathy. Alas, I fear I am incapable of entirely switching off. I am plagued with this compulsion to care.

I love to be an arse because it is calming to me when I know I can play with my words and bullshit around. Sometimes, when shit is happening, you just need to speak. You might not be saying anything to anyone in particular, but you know that you feel good saying it.

I've always talked too much. It was the main problem at all my little parent-teacher meetings because, god knows I had to be perfect in school. My dad has always had this plan for how my life was supposed to turn out. I wasn't supposed to get into music and veer into a life of carelessness with no investment and no enthusiasm for formal education. I was meant to become a doctor or a lawyer - any money-making professional, really. As long as I had money, that's all that mattered. The reality is, the money I do make, I spend almost instantly. The only times I have saved money, I've spent a mass of it on guitars and things surrounding them later on. I have left school, returned, and been kicked out again the following year.

There is one outcast in my vast family, one black sheep, my cousin Alex. He taught my other cousin to play guitar quite a few years back. That one is a doctor now, but Alex is still a struggling musician of over 40 years of age with a wife and a child and not much money at all to his name. He subsequently also started me off on guitar. When I used to ask why I wouldn't hear much about Alex in my younger years, I was always told that he was a disgrace to the family for never studying and not getting anywhere. He got his O levels at 14 and nearly got kicked out of the last year of secondary at 15 because he just couldn't be fucked afterwards. Surprise surprise, here I am. Three years older than he was at the time, out of school, no real money to my name which I don't plan to spend on guitars and an extended family who still thinks I'm in school because my parents are afraid to tell them about me. At least Alex had a brother to make the family proud, I'm all my parents have.

Don't get me wrong, I want to go to University at a point, but I have a year or two until that. Doing A levels on their own won't be easy, but it's a damn sight better doing them out of school. Funny things, teaching establishments. There are a few truly amazing people that make it a proper educational experience and others who are so prone to the sit-down-shut-up-listen-to-me-and-fuck-off attitude who, it goes without saying, make it anything but.

I have plenty more things on my mind, but I must learn to avoid brooding. It's just not worth it in the end. I've always prided myself on not holding grudges, and I will stick by that. In the end, all I need, is a bottle of Jack and some blues.

Goodnight the interwebz.

Fuck quotations, I'm not bothered.

This blog is about that ever inspiring topic of relationships.

I have had my fair share of them. I don't intend on being alone because I'm not the type of person that does well alone. I need someone in my life I believe I can trust and count on more than any other friend. Yes, we all have our friendships and I have been very fortunately blessed with many of those also, but that one relationship we need is always going to be too important to just try and do without.

I've tried speaking about love, while going through a lot of shit, on my youtube channel, but, of course, such a taboo subject is put through so much ridicule that it can't be taken seriously as a subject any more. No one can mention love or relationships in public without fearing ridicule from the great minds and thinkers of society.

I can't understand why relationships are viewed as such a liability. Yes, people risk and get hurt, but isn't that true with pretty much every other thing in life that is worth having or doing? For fuck's sake, how badly hurt do you have to be to prefer to reject any future closeness? Please, tell me, because I've been depressed and broken for years and years of my life, and I'm still looking for that closeness. Perhaps I am a complete fool. A relationship with someone in particular is supposed to be an extension of friendship. Why else would someone want to get to know someone before taking that next step? It is just ridiculous how, after getting the closeness some claim to want, they become terrified of losing it to the point where they end up over-thinking the mere foundation of the friendship within itself and end up losing it anyway.

I've seen and heard of this phenomenon happening a preposterous number of times, but it will never stop. As long as humans are humans and therefore they are ignorant and afraid of getting out of the little bubble that they think keeps them safe, most opportunities will be lost.

You may call me an opportunist, but, I'd rather be an opportunist and be turned down knowing that I tried, than a safe man in a safe relationship wondering what would have happened had I taken the risk on the person I knew I should have taken it on. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if that were to happen.

Good night.

"Health is the greatest gift, contentment the greatest wealth, faithfulness the best relationship." - Buddha

First thing's first, apologies for not posting in a while but I'm sure nobody cares either way so let's move on, shall we?

I've been locked up in my house for the past week seeing as I couldn't even stand up at the beginning of it due to my back acting up. My lack of health has finally caught up with me and not a minute too soon what with the operation in precisely a week. I had quite a few plans this weekend but they've all gone down the drain. It has been so bloody annoying too! My god! One minute it's completely fine, another I'm trying to scratch my epidermis off and another I'm hoping that I will be killed in some freak accident (I choose a freak accident for the attention, everyone knows I'm an attention whore). I have to be genuinely thankful for the care and interest shown to be by a great number of people about it, even sore bastards have said that I will be missed at points.

Moving on. The last thing I did do before taking a forced hiatus from the outside world is go to Earth Garden. I would explain what that is if I had an international audience, but I don't, so I won't. It was quite a grand conclusion to the days before irritation-induced seclusion. Inadvertently the many hours spent there probably caused the immediate and abrupt ending of my tolerance for my back, but enough moaning about it.

Needless to say, I've been maintaining solid contact with the outside world through electronic means and it really is a wonder why I haven't written anything on this for a while. Not like I don't have the time seeing as I do pretty much nothing all day and I barely sleep at all either, as the time stamp of this post will prove. I think it all comes down to the fact that there really is nothing in particular pushing me to update this blog except maybe some sort of competitive impulse if I notice that Ben is catching up to me in number of blog posts. I know it sounds ridiculous but it's true. I spoke with Jonathan - who writes the blog "Insight" that I link on the side - about this blog and just writing in general and he put forward the interesting point that it is a lot different writing because of inspiration and writing with deadlines. Right now, I have followed neither of those. My deteriorating health isn't a help in the inspiration front and, as far as I'm concerned at this moment, fuck deadlines.

This is what an insomniac rambling looks like.

Good morning the interwebz.

I'll post something worth reading eventually.

"All men by nature desire knowledge." - Aristotle

Of course all men desire knowledge, too bad knowledge and wisdom are two completely different things. Wisdom is finally realising that you lack most knowledge. Wisdom is admitting that you know absolutely nothing.

Unfortunately, the people who have the most knowledge are the ones that tend to go furthest in today's world but they tend to be too thick to enjoy it. They expect their rewards rather than truly appreciate them most of the time. Most of them know that they are knowledgeable and therefore they are no wiser than the child who is dependant on his parents. Often, in fact, you will find that these great and knowledgeable men and women rely on someone else who is always behind the curtain.

I will never claim to be either particularly knowledgeable or wise unless in good humour because I know what that one particular claim can lead to, expectations. As I've previously mentioned, these people expect their rewards. Living a life that leads one to be completely cynical about pretty much anything has made me realise that I am a lesbian .. wait, that's not it ... it has made me realise that no expectations equal no disappointments ... yes, that's it. I first heard about this from a television show - hear that? TV did something right for once - and I pondered about how right this really is.

I have never chosen to expect anything but sometimes I tend to mistakenly expect something out of humanity* and find myself let down. I say humanity because expecting material things is just plain dim. I expected that knowledgeable people would be reliable at what they are supposed to do but, it turns out, that they aren't.

In other news:

I finally got a date for my operation about 3 weeks after the professor said I would and it is for 3 weeks or so from now. I will most probably be posting blogs through gritted teeth because that's just the kind of loyal blogger I am.

On that note,
Good Evening the Interwebz.

*Benjamin's feelings got hurt that I mentioned humanity so in order to mend him, let me just say that it is usually people themselves rather than humanity as a whole that are a let down.

“If you have any thoughts or opinions on what you’ve seen in the last ten weeks, do please keep them to yourselves.” - Jeremy Clarkson

Ok so it's been 2 weeks, not 10, but you get the picture. I know I set a minimum post limit and whatnot but what am I supposed to do? Write through writer's block? Mediocre writer's block, at that?

I am oddly inspired by my good friend - I refuse to call him my best friend because that term should be reserved for people I actually like - and his blog. Although his posts are irregular at best and don't make any modicum of sense most of the time, they keep me reading.

Some might argue that we are both equally good at how we write but we can't seem to agree. He thinks my writing is ridiculous and I think his is too pompous, yet I still read his with a smile on my face and his voice in my head. I can't speak for him because I don't know what that arrogant prick gets off to in his mind as he reads my blog posts.

We both have our own individual writing voices. Some people take years of training to develop theirs and others never manage but while his has always been critical, mine started out plainly artistic. Only now am I truly venturing into the critical side of writing.

I would like to end this on a very factual note. Jeremy Clarkson is awesome.

Goodnight the interwebz.

"The fear really hits you. That's what you feel first. And then it's the anger and frustration." - Charles Bronson

This evening I am simply going to directly quote an email/message thing I sent just to sum up my main thoughts at the moment.

"Due to the collective mental retardation of the Maltese medical system, no one knows when my fucking operation is due. It wouldn't be this annoying if it were a proper mistake but having your surgeon cousin call and say, "Yeah, the specialist never came to work ...", tends to be a bit fucking frustrating. Henceforth, RANT MODE ON!


OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO


Stupid bloody medical douchebags. Honestly? He never came to work? What the fuck was he doing? Just shows up when he pleases because he has a fucking alphabet in front of his name and a "Dr." just before it, eh? Why bother going to fucking work regularly like normal people? God knows you are the largest cocked, piece of shit surgeon on this god-forsaken planet.

Also, I wouldn't be this annoyed if it were just a routine thing, but when something's been annoying a person for over 6 months and this whole operation prepping thing has been going on for at least the past 2 months, you'd think the one person that needs to make a call to give a fucking date would be there, but noooooooo! It's not their fucking arse that is on the line, it's anyone else's and they couldn't be fucked to show up in an office or even make a simple bloody call.

Rant mode off. I'm sure you enjoyed it."

You may notice this is written much more informally than my usual writing here, but that's how I roll.

Good evening the interwebz.

"I'd rather regret doing something than not doing something." - James Hetfield

As I look onto the sea of utter chaos that is my house after a very eventful evening, I can't help but wonder ... was it really worth it?

There are a few things I can't help but think about and cringe. Let's just say I have a long evening ahead of me. Again. My place is a wreck and I audibly groan at the sight of my living room and the state of my potentially ruined leather reclining sofa. It was someone's (Zak Pulis) bright idea to jump on it in some form of makeshift pile-up gag, and now it's busted. A joy to try and fix. I will boggle my mind with that later however, because the most pressing issues lie in just cleaning the bloody mess.

Then again, if this hadn't happened, Sara wouldn't be yelling at my Playstation. Something along the lines of, "Why are the police after me?! FUCK! A helicopter!". I find this amusing. Either because it really is amusing or because I feel so superior. Or both.

The regret of passing up some fun while the house is mine would still, arguably, be greater than that of knowing I have a lot to clean up and take care of after the fun, but that reality is a little hard to see at this very moment. I can't really call anyone in my family to help and exhaustion is taking its toll. "Gotta love insomnia", I tell myself as my arm slips off my desk and I punch myself in the jaw.

I don't believe in luck, but if I did, I'd ask you to wish it for me, so good afternoon the interwebz.

"There are some days when I think I'm going to die from an overdose of satisfaction." - Salvador Dali

In contrast to last week's post, I am in a contagiously good mood this weekend.

Of course there are always the snags and little hindrances in the form of particular people, but I digress. Perhaps the above quote is stretching my state of satisfaction just a tad but why not indulge in this momentary lapse of reason? Usually over-thinking leads to excess worry and this ludicrous materialisation of problems that were never there in the first place, but it's those useless little worries that get to you the most.

I am not envious of people who seem to be constantly in a good mood because to people who don't know me too well, I am one of those people, and I know what lies behind that lovely public display of fake smiles and dark, sesquipedalian humour which I adore so much.

I believe it was the indispensable Jay-Z that said, "Go on, brush your shoulders off" in a song called "Dirt Off Your Shoulders". Heavy sarcasm aside, this mentality of "if something is bothering you, fuck it", tends to temporarily work, so for someone who seeks instant gratification - that is, most of the population - that's the way to go. Got something weighing you down? Brush it off your shoulders. Assuming that something you can easily brush off is also heavy enough to weigh you down.

This is me in my happy place.

Good afternoon the interwebz.

"Anger is a short madness." - Horace

I'm pissed off and this is my outlet.

As many of my friends can tell you, things get to me. Often I turn these sporadic annoyances into humorous rants and outbursts however, today, this isn't the case. I am in the worst mood I have been in for a few days and, knowing my near bipolar nature, that is quite a feat.

It gets to me when I know things are just fucking useless. Anything from organised religion to claims of unbiased judgement. Yes, I am going to judge people who have proven to be worth nothing more than a sack of puss in the past. Yes, I know I "shouldn't" but in the end, who gives a fuck what I "should" and "shouldn't" do? If a particular friend is happy with making what I view as a huge mistake, no one can expect me to just stand by, grit my teeth and let it slide. That just isn't happening.

Also, stop inviting me to these pointless events which I'm never attending. Honestly? Youth masses? Lenten talks? Mink level 2 parties? SKY Club parties? Open bar at AXIS? What the fuck? If you knew me, you wouldn't bother. If you didn't know me, then why the fuck would you invite me anyway? Is it that you need more names on your bloody list? You can take your ill-advised, generic and popularly ignored invitations and stick them up all of your respective arses.

What with health problems, home issues, mental dilemmas and relationship paradoxes, I shouldn't have to put up with all this shit. The breaking down is also a lovely bonus. If I had to choose between being a cold, useless, mainstream cunt like most people on this useless rock we are forced to call home and being me, guess who I'd choose.

Goodnight.

"One does not leave a convivial party before closing time." - Winston Churchill

Then again, some do actually leave a seemingly joyous occasion early. One may choose to leave, one may be forced to leave for being disorderly, one in particular may have no choice because it's a fortune that he isn't unconscious after bashing his head against the edge of a lavatory basin.

As it turns out, having a group of teenagers and twenty-somethings in a small hall together is bound to lead to some sort of accident, or rather, a number of accidents. The most notable being the aforementioned head-to-lavatory-basin bollocks. When inebriated, you shouldn't be allowed to walk around unsupervised, let alone go weewee in the girl's bathroom while unbalanced and idiotic-mannered. The lesser accidents include a beer spill that could have led to an overly-dramatic and sudden failure of all the electrical equipment in the hall, more leftover food and drink than you can wave at a small African village and a few things leftover that really shouldn't have been, say ... a guitar?

Still, everything worked out fine in the end and even though my lightweight friend and his blunt-force trauma to the back of the melon is in hospital for observation, nothing gets on my tits more than things left unsaid, and believe me, there are things left unsaid.

For now, I bid adieu.
Good afternoon the interwebz.

"Words are but symbols for the relations of things to one another and to us; nowhere do they touch upon absolute truth." - Friedrich Nietzsche

Hello friend,

my name is Mathias Mallia, and I will be posting what promises to be the most arbitrary stream of bollocks onto this blog on a semi-regular basis. I will set a minimum of a post a week to start with, give me some sort of goal, you see.

Where to begin? Well, something at this very moment that annoys me is Google's new and patronising internet browser. It irks me that Google Chrome's auto-correct function doesn't recognise the word "blog" or the word "Google". Definitions for both are (as taken off the Merriam-Webster dictionary):

Blog - Web site that contains an online personal journal with reflections, comments, and often hyperlinks provided by the writer; also : the contents of such a site.

Google - (noun)Trademark for a search engine.
Google - (verb)To use the Google search engine to obtain information about (as a person) on the World Wide Web.

I find it amusing how I feel the need to point this out while typing the first post of a blog using a website powered by Google. Ah, Irony.