Hic Sunt Dracones

the smylere with the knyf under the cloke

Posts Tagged ‘communication

Opium for the Masses — Mental Retardation

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I sent mass text that rendered the perfect white picket fence garden, smeared with the obscene calamity that struck the peaceful citizen into the “soul of soulless conditions, the heart of a heartless world”. Not twice or thrice. But only ONCE.

That is enough to get a citizen of outsource capitalization that is frequently flooded with global call to get irked with one simple text that only inquire about a shipment of goods from Borneo. I apologise for not abiding to the rule of internet sophistication of Twitter and Facebook at that moment, since I’m in the middle of 3G and Internet void. Hence the sms, as the shipment just arrived from Miri and intended recipient is required — the goods is perishable and still fresh.

I don’t have to be creative with an elaborate prose just to inquire 3 people. Yes, only 3 masses of person.

Massive masses of human mass.

You wanted me to make a different tearful and eye jerking story about the passing of something dear to me for each of intended close circle of loved ones too? I send it to the citizen of the animal lover with ever intricate narrative; and the reply is understandable since the trip to the mountainous theme park surely take out breathe of the visitor there. I don’t trespass further, and the succinct reply is enough.

If I didn’t blog it, does that mean I didn’t value it the same with someone else quote that comes from a different mode of communication? Do I have to divulge everything just to make a simple point that death is something poignant?

Why overlook a simple structure of word — death — yet looking further to the voice that uttered the word; unsteady vibration, foul stench from the parched throat, indistinct accent and the facial tic that’s irksome. The messenger is being judged, for he didn’t come decent and charmingly enough to utter the distressing word — death. How should I say it: Longer and poetic version with singular recipient, as if the world of my despair revolved around one person alone?

Somehow, I, remaining in perpetual confusion amuse some of you. Like a decrepit dog tailing its tail.

Does death also amuses some of you? And do I have to blog every frustration with every answer that comes from each of you just to be fair — as whom I value the most?

Should I also divulged how many promises that’s broken, how many debt left unpaid, how many disappointment that I stomach with nihilistic contempt! Because being ignorance is bliss?

I’m glad [he] got the gut to make it happened, because that would be definitive enough for me, how it should ended in term of being in perpetual complication.

If blogging my frustration is the valid form of real life frustration. So there. I’m frustrated with all the argument about stupid judgement of one simple multiple or effing mass sms, plural recipient for tragic story instead of singular recipient and the grading system like in kindergarten on how much valuable the feedback is.

This is such an infantile argument.

Would it be professional if I ask how much debt that you should pay? Or just because I work in Oil & Gas, I should ignore all the debt incurred? Oh, that’s only rhetorical question, since it required spending monetary value equivalent on how many gas, mileage and time that already spent the last 4 years.

It’s easier to make the argument worse by divulging financial losses. That’s when alimony issues arise.

Nevermind. Do whatever you want to do.

If I did, is it going to get worst?

Only if I blog this that is.

And I did.

+++

Blogging is not a valid form of mutual conversation. Try the traditional verbal dialogue next time, winning the argument is easier amidst the tantrum. Then again, that’s why I blog, to stay clear from the “paroxysm of indifference importance”.

Written by cthulhu

February 27, 2009 at 1:37 am

Flights of Infancy

The phone I rang was answered by [him]. [He] echoed every single “hello” I made. The voice flippant with a hint of flagrant sardonic humour, sans the reeking sardine fragrance, complimentary of the proxy voice over the wire and wave. Not that [he] have one, at least not at that moment.

I’m in no mood to hear someone aping me, much less to have [him] picking up her phone. Never once [he] does that since I met her. Always the ever subservient porter of the magic voice box — as it rang, the perfunctory hand handed it over to her.

Perhaps it’s schadenfreude. Knowing well that I’m already reduced to a lesser subject of her affection.

No more the magus of amorous plague. Merely the pariah of delirious fugue.

Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello.

I throttled the aping sound with a silent touch of unceremonious disconnection.

I was hoping the droning white noise became a stimulus for [his] dutiful mind when it concern her mobile phone.

Hello. Hello.

It works.

Written by cthulhu

March 20, 2008 at 6:50 pm

Talking Only Me and You

Peter Bjorn and John (Featuring Victoria Bergsman) – Young Folks

Usually when things has gone this far
People tend to disappear
No one would surprise me unless you do

+++

We used to talk only me and you.

It’s hard enough to conform with your privacy area of null communication (e.g. not at [his] place or in the dynamic geolocation of your erratic privacy) much less to get the convenient time to keep in touch with you (e.g. not during the gameplay or idiot box gawking).

To get a call for a spat — that is not what I have in mind.

Squiggly Life in a Can[t]

Wee hour is being in the lee of dream.

Skint and bored is not an impetus to tinkle.

Compensate the loss of one’s proximity with others.

It’s usually about me, but I would rather say otherwise.

This is about me — it’s 4:44 am — I’m tired.

Sleep.

Written by cthulhu

December 17, 2007 at 4:42 am