Sharing

Welcome again!

Today, my Ol' Three Faithful Readers, I would like to discuss with you a topic I believe to be of vital importance to humanity. Not only does this topic have special significance with our day to day activities for it also has to do with transcending our souls into the next plane of being. It is a topic that has recently been called to my attention by accident; an accident that at first was an annoyance but little by little it has become such an intricate activity in my life that now I long for it and desire it.

Laundry.

At first it used to be that I took my clothes to a laundry where they washed my clothes; I just packed my dirty rags and took them to the laundry shop, left them there for an old lady to clean and iron. The next day I would come back to find my clean clothes so elegantly folded in a tidy package. I paid the lady and came back home with a smile of realization on my face. See here, I will not deny all my childhood I have gotten used to just throwing my clothes in the bin and then either my Mom or the Cleaning Lady would wash them. So it made sense from that frame of mind that I would not, even by chance, do that chore by myself.

Until one day something bizarre happened: I forgot to take the clothes to the laundry shop. In a sudden surge of adrenaline, despair and horror as I stared into my empty underwear drawer I quickly took my dirt-smeared clothes to the self-service laundry and did the unthinkable: with both denial and uncertainty I pressed my clothes in the washing machine, dropped some soap on top of the clothes, put some tokens in the machine and pressed the red button to oblivion. Let me tell you, this was a complete odyssey for me from the moment I had to buy the soap. I mean... what's the difference between them all? Blech? Color-safe? Softener? Conditioner? What does all that mean! The words just did not make sense to me! Add the fact I had no clue how much soap to put in... should if go on top of the clothes or in the little receptacle in the washing machine? What's with the little towels people put in? Is there a God? And if so, why has he beget such pain upon this poor soul that I am?

Over time I have learned the difference between all those words, the amount of soap I should put in, the right amount of time in the dryer, what those little towels are and so on and so forth. Take it from me, there are so many variables that washing clothes should almost be considered a science.

But all that is just besides the point. The point is that over the months I have washed my own clothes there has been other people around when I am doing so. More so, some of us tend to go the same days at the same time each week, always meeting, never speaking much. But sometimes we do. We tell each other stories. At first we began having conversation of why the washing machines are always occupied; then we shared cloth-washing horror stories, we gave each other tips and how-to's. We've shared each other's soap, bleach and softener when we do not have enough. And think about urban self-laundry shops where women get together to chat, gossip and socialize; oh! All the stories that must have been told at laundries! But we have also shared something more important, more primal and more intimate.

Dirty undies.

No, I don't mean we put each other's dirty undies. What I mean is that as we load our dirty clothes into the washing machine we are sharing our dirtiness out in the open for all to see. Many a time have I seen women put their bra's in the machine, men put their hairy boxers; and just as many times they have seen me put my sweaty shirts in the machine. Are you able too see the significance of this? Usually we do not let people see our intimate clothing. Women worry their panties show when they sit, or if their cleavage is too big, and so on and so forth. But at that moment in the laundry they do not care. We do not care. We share our human condition with one another. We lose our shame and accept each other as we are.

Would it not be nice if we could change the context to something bigger? Instead of sharing dirty undies, sharing our souls? When instead of helping each other clean his pants, we could also help ourselves to clean our lives? Because we are all humans. Because we all smear mud on our clothes. Because we all sin. Because we all share this planet; share our lives. Because we are all brothers of the same conditions. And then, on that day we will not be ashamed of who we really are, of our undies, we will let the world see our clean undies for what they are, see our true clean souls. Our humanity.

Also, a salute to all the Mothers and Cleaning Ladies out there that keep our clothes clean. They are the complices of our shame and our dirt. We salute you!

As for me... well... I enjoy watching dirty, cute pink undies.

Super Powers!

Hello there!

 

Just a quick note: I've had diarrhea since Monday... that's three days straight. But I'm beginning to think it actually is a blessing from The Powers That Be in the form of a super power! Think about it! I can actually defecate in less than 8 seconds! Just go in, take pants down, do my business, carry on with my normal day... as normal as a diarrheic day can be.

 

... but you did not want to know this... I just wanted to share because I love your face of disgust so much my Ol' Three Faithful Readers.

They say I have issues!

How's it hanging, my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers?

 

Just the other day I was at this... hum... I was about to call it a party, but it was more of a reunion. That is under the convention, of course, that parties have to involve booze, music, lots of people, munchies and a ratio of 1.5 women per each male in the party; and at least a couple making out. So based on that definition of the word "party" I was on a reunion with some of the guys from the play I am rehearsing for school. From the moment I got there I realized there was something missing from the reunion. Something so vital for any social meeting of people. Something without which no human relations can take place.

 

Munchies.

 

Promptly I decided to take hands in the matter and began repeating the word over and over. "Munchies." One hour passed in which words were spoken, jokes were told, dreams were shattered and fashion was criticized. Like the raven in Poe's poem I could only repeat one word: "Munchies."

 

 "`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, 'MUNCHIES!'"

 

When I finally got them annoyed, we finally decided to go get some... can you guess? No? You give up? Bags of Doritos and Coke! Others went to get some booze and our Mom Away From Home went to get some hamburgers. Which, by the way, I would call Pizzaburgers; I kid you not, those hamburgers were the size of a family sized pizza from Domino's. Really, I'm not kidding. You could easily feed a whole family of Elbonians off one of those gigantic burgers which cost just $5 bucks. Yes. You read right: $5 for a 20" burger; that's 50.8cm. for the English Measure System Impaired. Six Dollar Burger, eat your heart out.

 

After that people sat in chairs and the couches to drink, eat munchies and a slice of the gigant-o-burger chatting from vanal topics as who is or not a virgin to pool conceptions passing by colon collapses and ghost stories for the next 6 hours. All the while, I could only repeat the same sentence over and over when asked for my point of view: "I once farted."

 

Maybe I really have issues. Maybe I like being gross. Or maybe I had no interest what-so-ever in the conversations. More likely I felt I had nothing really interesting to add to the conversation. Mind you, people still laughed everytime I said those three senseless words; which actually worries me. Who has more issues: me for saying "I once farted" or them for laughing each time I uttered such desecration for 6 hours straight?

 

It was a good night in the end, sans getting stuck in the terrace for about 10 minutes because, as if by a mysterious and unseen force, the sliding door closed and a ghostly hand put the latch on. But that's besides the point. This is my point with my story.

 

Yes... click the link... yeah... that is a link to my point... click it... done?... have you read the article? Thanks.

 

Bad ideas. Good ideas. Crazy ideas. Sick ideas. Planned ideas. It does not matter. They are ideas after all. And as far fetched as they might be they are as valid as any because we do not know when a half-baked idea can be developed into a full-fledged vision. Heck, if you actually think about it most of the great discoveries in our world were created when someone had a really bizarre idea; but instead of succumbing all those jealous voices trying to kill the idea they got to work on them. Savour them. Dream them. And living them.

 

How many people out there cannot have one, just one, truly original idea; where it good or bad? How many out there have you heard say: "I just don't have any good ideas!"? Ideas are nor good or bad. Neither crazy or sick. They just are. Keeping them flowing is what makes us creative; constantly throwing ideas around and playing with them is how we create things.

 

Maybe someone was in a reunion with some friends and suddenly said: "I once peed." Then another friend added to that idea while looking at the stars sprayed across the dark sky: "Hey... would it not be cool to create electricity from pee?" They played around with it... the idea, I mean, and wham! Peed powered batteries. Nuclear power. Penicillin. Creation.

 

Serendipity.

 

As for me, I once farted.

Timmy Likes It!

Hello!

 

Some time ago I thought this, finally my last semester, I would have lots and titanic amounts of free time to do a whole bunch of stuff I had intention to accomplish. And then Father Fate reared his crooked nose and here I am praying for a few minutes to go to the bathroom. I skipped a lot of posts for various reasons ranging from the fact that on the week before a play presentation I usually do not exist for anything more than the play, to idiotic excuses such as not having clean clothes.

 

Fortunately for some, unfortunately to others and indifference of my neighbors, here I am again.

 

And today's post, oh my Ol' Three Faithful Readers, has to do precisely with me being rushing from activity to activity. Not long ago I was complaining that I barely had time to do what I wanted to do; were it playing on the computer, writing, drawing or simply munching my trusty bag of Doritos and my 2-liter bottle of Coke while listening to that sweet music sweeping my brain. I blamed school, I blamed humanity and I shook my fist in anger.

 

Now, I have time to do as I please. And what, pray I tell, I do with it you ask? I got myself busy with extra activities I have no real need to be doing. I blame them, I blame humanity and I shake my fist in anger. But you want to know the worst part of it? I like it. I like the adrenaline rush in my body when I have to be in two places at the exact same time; I like the excitement of skipping what little classes I have to do other things; I like the way people believe my made up excuses as the hard truth. In some twisted and perveted ways my sane mind cannot fully comprehend, I like it.

 

Yet this happens day to day in a more grand scale than just me as an individual but also Humanity, as a whole, likes it. It appears as if, for some odd reason, masochism were an intricate part of our human nature. Day to day we put ourselves in positions that we know will hurt us. We cut down trees, suck up the oil, torture our children, make up wars and shoot down or own compatriots in times of need. Everything around us has been erected to make us happy; and we destroy it with pleasure. The living cry out the names of the dead for comfort as we join them under a rain of bullets buzzing on our television's speakers while we feed our babies with half-truths of a middle class paradise long lost at the same time grandpa rots of ignorance alone under our sun's shadow waiting for a bus that will never arrive. Communication surrounds us all around with electric waves bouncing and dancing around our heads carrying coded bits of malformed words meaning crypted semantics from one individual to another half an-ever-shrinking world apart all the while we hide our communion with those closest to us because we forget the words that make up our emotions that are long to connect falling on deaf ears and a failed muted breath. We are constantly sinking in a river of tears and blood drowning our lungs with every breath and each time we raise from the depths is only to gain momentum to sink deeper.

 

And we like it.

 

As for me... well... I am a masochist. That's why I fall in love.