PurpleCrap: No Peak, No Plot, No Meaning

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Illness Illussion

One foine Tuesday, April 25,]-[ of clan Mauvecloud wrote:

And then a real person said something which spilt the contents of the sack. The mood to plagiarize songs and myths is ruined, as is the rest of the day, so I will proceed to write the wankiest LJ post ever, the father of the fathers of all wankeries.

The frequency of private LJ entries has increased, but not as dramatically as that of public entries. I still can't afford to pay real people to listen to my rants, and am too anal-retentive to put myself in debt to non-professionals. Therefore I shy away from saddling real people with my ravings. Since lj-user names are not real people, I let this restraint fly to the wind in times like this.

On the other hand, I have always admired Amy Tan, who started to write after her psychiatrist fell asleep on her, although the people in her books never sound particularly Chinese (or even Cantonese) to me. In fact, they sound as American as chop-suey.

And back to the topic. Why pay the psychiatrists' mortgage? Write a book! On how your wicked emotionally retarded parent played this series of awful jokes on you because he passed down bad genes, always threatened to beget a son on his mistress because you are simply not good enough, could never look you in the eye, could never utter even a short phrase (sounds like 'well done' ) but could go around all the coffee-shops in town regurgitating the contents of your report card to people who didn't care and didn't want to know, and, as a punch-line, made it impossible for you to realize your deeply-longed-for dream of ill-treating him in his declining years (ugly nurses with mustaches and exclusively extra-spicy meals and lots of MILK sounded very very satisfyingly evil ^-^). (Hmm, I think that sounds Amy-Tan-ish enough.)

There are many non-resolutions. Grievances are long. Let us begin with bad genes….

1) FEL-1-N3: Produces the protein HB-34TER, a precursor to the enzyme essential to the digestion of cat-hair
I confess to not being able to see anything heritable in a trait which predisposes one to liking evil-smelling, fussy, and bad-tempered animals with fangs and claws who are always wanting to be on the other side of the door. Because cat-owned humans are not supposed to survive long enough to pass down genes. Reasons:
- Injuries (Opening cans is dangerous! Even with opposable thumbs. That's why they get us to do it.)
- Depression ("I am sad. Puss is not speaking to me again!" or "I am sad. Haido is refusing the usual expensive food again!")
- Being eyed suspiciously by the other sub-species of humans (People usually call them dog owners but trust me, they are actually just another sub-group of attention whores/attention addicts.)

2) F41-LUR-3: Gene product is responsible for regulation (turning on or off) of other genes, especially a gene called SUK-5355 (in case of this particular gene, mainly involves shutdown of transcription by preventing attachment of RNA polymerase to the promoter sequence)
Wherefore it was known that you did get your qualifications in accountancy, but, with the unprofitable concern your ~~slave-owners~~ adoptive parents foisted on you, the only use you ever had for the certificates was to wipe the ass with. And, the saddest of it all, they at the house recently found your old poems. And stories. You owe me big time for the apoplexy. Oh the shame of it! I, an aspiring plagiarist, the offspring of an O-level-educated oil merchant who was a wanna-be writer! And I dare sully the browser windows of literate people with my illiterate wankeries! Oh sad! Melee my girl! Why are you so ugly? Why are you so stupid?

Therefore, my mother's sperm donor, I hope you renounced atheism in time, because people go where they want to go in the hereafter. People who neither care nor believe turn into nothing, or are assimilated, like the swirling chocolate on top of the cappuccino, beautiful only because of the transience (and the taste, of course. Yummy). The usual animism would be fine, although it would be a tad too hard to guess the level of abode (18 in all!). I don't think you'd be in anything below the 3rd level, the cats (at least the ones you fed) won't allow that; hence I will work hard to adjust the balance between niceness and evil in myself to fit the profile of a dweller of the 3rd level. However, life (and death) being a perpetual joke with unfunny punch-lines, I have a niggling suspicion you might already move uptown, or worse, reincarnate.

The benefits of posting your wankeries in public:
Stuffs in private entries remain as real as ever. Conversely, I notice that a lot of things I posted publicly seem less and less real with passing time. I posit that it comes as a direct benefit of being read by unreal people. For example, for the past three weeks, there have been exactly zero occurrences of sausages-in-curry at the university cafeteria.

// mauve signed off @ 11:18 PM

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