Sunday, April 20, 2014

For most of Saturday, I was tapping away my thoughts about the digital age and the democratization of fine arts. I find it a very engaging topic, and wish to give it further study before I submit it to my blog. After a last-minute night of empty bars, I come home to a laptop and my thoughts… a dangerous situation indeed.

In a fit of tittering schoolboy, tabloid-esque humour, I decided to peruse the love advice columnist for the “perpetually single man.” Why would I do such a odd thing? That is me, you see, and with the aid of a finely etched, leaded crystal tumbler of Maker’s Mark I digest the salient point noted in more than one article:

Never-married men are questionable.

How lovely! It’s nice to have confirmation. At least you people aren’t telling me it’s all in my head, which is the gaslight programme of my foul, contemptible existence upon this absurd crust of rock. Thank you for being honest! It means the world to me.

It’s bad enough to deal with that “man of a certain age” poppycock, but to be faced with such acute judgment is just the thing I need to dismiss the human race in total. Out of my house! Out of my house! You confused my punch bowl for a bidet, and now it tastes like society. For shame. How many times have I wiped those cheeks without complaint?! Several, I tell you and I even used two-ply.

As I sit here in my home office, I’m left to contemplate my life and its owner-given meaning. What doesn’t sound so ridiculously unattainable right now? So, nothing. Not potential but rubbish thoughts for a rubbish life. Jessica, Shylock should dance to know my worth and your eyes.

With that in mind, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Nate the Skate and his Butcher’s Block Orchestra’s anthem: Giuseppe Verdi’s “Anvil Chorus” from Il Trovatore

 

Chi del gitano i giorni abbella?

I ASK YOU!

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5 thoughts on “Sunday, April 20, 2014

  1. Jen says:

    Never married anybodies are just another version of us married folk. Wondering all the time if we have made the right choices or the wrong ones; wondering if we have been loved enough, have loved enough. Hoping tomorrow we will wake up without a cold or fever or something worse. Hoping we will eventually realize the point of it all.

    • I think I know where I was going with that post early this morning, but I’m going to come back after a few hours to meditate on it some more. Talk to you soon!

    • I think what was eating me last night under alcohol fumes was the aspect of love and relationships being a shell game. For one reason or another, the ball is never found. I’ve often gotten that “thanks but no thanks” routine, and have made the assertion it was an unjust, judgmental excuse only to be given the innocent-until-proven-guilty routine.

      It seems in modern times, people have lost the energy to lie to my face and thus openly admit there’s little more than false evaluations at work but in a “it’s too late” phrasing. Another excuse, albeit honest. The game is rigged, and I’m the sap.

  2. That piece of Verdi always reminds me of comedy sketches…..:)

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