The Beauty of Television, Stupid Questions and an Apology
A whole lot more people could do great things if they could just tear themselves away from the television. But why make the effort of changing the world when you can just change the channel? The world is different on The Discovery Channel than it is on MTV. So go ahead, take control of that remote and change the world.
You set out in search of your destiny. You end up watching TV.
Soul-searching is easy when you have satellite (good, old ASTRO). 93 (100, who cares what the exact number is) channels, 24 hours a day, your soul’s bound to be in there somewhere though you might find it dubbed in a different language. Or you might find that it comes with subtitles that aren’t entirely accurate. Occasionally, you might find your soul interrupted by a five minute commercial break selling everything you don’t need that you must have. Occasionally, you might find your soul interrupted by commercials telling you that your hair is not good enough, that your laundry detergent isn’t good enough, that your health insurance plan isn’t good enough, that your soft drink of choice isn’t good enough, that your skin, your waistline, your car isn’t good enough that YOU aren’t good enough. But it’s all done in a manner so amusing, you don’t even realize you’re being insulted. And they offer you solutions to not being good enough. Buy this and your life will be better which is more than you can say about the people in your life who tell you that you’re not good enough and leave it at that. And if all this doesn’t hold true, you can always change the channel.
And the beauty of TV shows is, no matter how ‘fresh’ or ‘new’ the idea it is said to be, at the end of the day, it always adheres to some kind of formula. Even if there’s a ‘surprise twist’ to the plot, you’re not surprised that they put in a ‘surprise twist’. Which means it always turns out at least somewhat like you expected it to. Which is more than you can say about real life. And if all this doesn’t hold true, you can always change the channel.
On TV, time has no meaning. A whole season worth of episodes can add up to only about a day, an hour can be half a life time, three days can be collapsed into half an hour. On TV, you can be 30 and be the hottest 17 year old in high school. On TV, you can be 45 and have the body of a 20 year old with a driver’s license that says you’re 50. And if all this doesn’t hold true, you can always change the channel.
On TV, there is no dirt on people’s faces unless there is suppose to be. Sometimes, even when there’s suppose to be dirt, there isn’t any. On TV, people are only ugly if it’s pivotal to the plot. Even on the news or a documentary, ugliness is intentional. It’s never just there. And if all this doesn’t hold true, you can always change the channel.
Or you can turn the damn thing off.
And finally listen to your own thoughts. The TV is off – now is the time for reflection, introspection. Get spiritual, ya’ll. But you don’t want enlightenment. You want radiation. You don’t want to listen to yourself. You have nothing worth saying now that you have the television to say it for you, think it for you, do it for you. You want to watch TV till you’re blind, you want to hear the endless cornucopia of sound created in a studio that are readily available in real life till you’re deaf, till you yourself forget how to make any. Until then, you want to watch TV. You organize your social life around your favorite TV shows, you skip classes (where you live, there’s no such thing as TiVo), you sabotage real romantic prospects because you already have a rather fulfilling (albeit entirely fictional) relationship with the hot potato on Mark Burnett’s latest reality TV show even though he looks like Elvis and you hate Elvis, and he’s a Virgo and you hate Virgos. Hey, if he’s on a reality show, he’s real enough; at least it’s not some hokey soap opera character. You pick a major like Communications in college because you want to work on TV but all you end up doing is watching TV. You put off college for six months; you put off getting a job while you’re putting off college because you feel that watching TV is a full-time job. Your family, full of eager, rat-racing professionals considers you to be the black sheep of the family but it’s alright cause you can still be shaved and made into lovely black wool sweaters, you can still be milked, you can still be eaten, you’re just a stand-out part of the flock, which on TV, is a good thing. You put off going to the toilet because you want to watch TV. You surf the net only to Google things that are related to TV, your e-mail inbox overflows with TV updates and you put off reading that one-off email from a long-lost friend because the need to find out what’s in store for the next season of so-and-so show is more urgent. You talk on the phone while watching TV, you don’t care who’s on the other line because you’re not really listening since you’re watching TV, and during commercial breaks, you only talk of TV, till your friends don’t bother calling “just to chat” anymore unless they need a recap of what happened on so-an-so TV show last week (they do however call if they have a karaoke session – your other guilty pleasure – planned, or, they’re asking you to get stoned in which case you say no since you’ve quit that shit a while ago since your parents would string you up on top of KLCC by a single nose hair if they were to catch you doing so, which is really, not really the main reason at all – you say ‘No’ because a) you’re broke from SMSing votes for JD on Rock Star: INXS, b) the stuff has lost its appeal now that you have satisfied your curiosity regarding altered mental states, c) TV has already killed enough of your brain cells and d) YOU WANT TO WATCH TV oh, and for political correctness sake you should probably say e) cause it’s apparently bad and illegal ). Once, you tried moving the TV into the bathroom so you could bathe and watch TV at the same time but you damn well nearly gave yourself: a) a hernia b) electrocution – it’s not so much the bodily harm that you mind, it’s the damage to your television set that you dare not risk. If you lived alone, and had a bathroom that faced the TV room, you would shower with the door wide open so that you could watch TV. If you had the moo-lah (wait, what am I saying? I mean the money) you would have one of those MTV Cribs worthy TV installed in your bathroom, the kind that would pop out of the foot of the bathtub. In an ideal world, where you actually lived alone and not with your parents (one of which is bathtubphobic), you would have a bathtub. You put off sleep because you want, no you need to watch TV, anything on TV, even if you think its rubbish. You say cigarettes are your only addiction, but in truth, if you had to choose between giving up smoking and television, you would choose television, although you hope that the Cosmic Order would never let it come to that. Heck, you put off your whole life because you’re watching TV and you realize, without TV, you have no life, no, wait, you do, and too many it seems a good enough life but without TV, you don’t want it.
And if all this doesn’t hold true for you, then CONGRATULATIONS – you are not me.
You probably have your television set turned off. You probably have a great degree and a great job and a great freaking retirement plan (which involves a cruise around the world). You probably have had at least one real be it bad or good, romantic relationship. You probably have a bathtub. You probably don’t give visiting your poor grandma a miss because she doesn’t have ASTRO. And if none of this holds true for you, then you might as well be watching TV.
You would think that I have the kind of parents that used TV as a parenting device but I don’t. Reading was greatly encouraged (started reading, if not entirely understanding Shakespeare at 11, along with Sweet Valley Twins (haha!) and am no better for it) And my brother was genius (wow, look, I’m giving him a compliment) at coming up with games – indoor football (there goes mama’s photo frame), indoor volley-balloon and elaborate TV-worthy plots involving Lego pieces, one in which my Lego man (name: Kurt Michael, don’t ask why) killed my brother’s Lego man (name: don’t remember) and was imprisoned for it (prison was at the top of my brother’s closet, which at that age, I was to short to reach – not anymore, sucker!), subsequently released but rejected by the rest Lego society and landed in prison again. My sis also built a Lego spaceship with a giant ironing board on its roof (don’t ask why) which provided for countless hours of TV-less amusement. My cousin (milk-stealing freak) used to come over a lot, and him, my sis (the one that didn’t build the ironing board spaceship) and I would jump on my parents’ bed while yelling at the top of our lungs: Jingkari! Jingkari! Jingkari! (no, I actually have no idea what Jingkari means). Yet, despite the abundance of time-consuming, amusing and TV-less activities that I was privileged to be a part of, I do remember finding the time to watch a lot of TV as a kid: 21 Jump Street – Johnny Depp, Johnny Depp, Johnny Depp set the basic model for almost every guy on TV that I’ve had a crush on ever since, give and take a few temporary insanity exceptions –Chadwho?- and also ‘Nam Tour of Duty which I actually remember most for the chubby sergeant which my mom may or may not have liked, a cute lieutenant, and a really great soundtrack –the song Paint It Black by the Rolling Stones has been a favorite of mine ever since – and to my siblings and old friends, shut up, the boyband thing was a temporary phase and it was YOUR fault. Come to think of it, I wonder what effect watching a TV series on the horrors of the Vietnam War had on my 6 year old psyche, and if it did have any negative effect, was it neutralized by also watching Captain Planet (I can still sing you the theme song) and the oh-so-sweet-and-fuzzy My Little Pony & Friends and the I’m-fuzzy-now-but-I-want-to-grow-up-to-be-a-cocaine-snorting-former-child-star Full House. There was also Doogie Howser (yuck, stinking ginger), Satria Baja Hitam a.k.a Mask Rider Black (Japanese superhero series where guy wears black leather, rides a motorcycle and fights rubbery alien monsters with names like Gorgon in miniature Tokyo) and ah, MacGyver, man who gave Swiss army knives and mullets such a good name (and for that, Richard Dean something, your career has been condemned to death). Oh, I must not forget to mention the He-Man and She-Ra cartoons (I also had the books) and Thundercats (I can still sing you the theme song, and the spoof version, and I am Mambra, THE EVER LIVING *insert evil cackle here*).
Anyway, all this reminiscing has made me lose my point. What was the point of this whole entry?
The point of this whole entry is……. to reveal to you how much of a dork I really am – I don’t know if this may come as a surprise or not to you – different people view the same splotch of ink on a card differently, don’t they? – but actually, no, that wasn’t the whole point. The whole point, the whole fucking point as to why I watch TV, and listen to music, and watch movies, and read, and am only able to say certain stuff on a stupid blog when it might serve me better to say it in real life, or not to say it all, the whole fucking point as to why Art and Entertainment exists, is not because it is a reflection of life, but because it’s really a remarkably good way to avoid real life altogether, and WE ARE ALL FUCKING AFRAID OF REAL LIFE to some extent or another (and now, this whole issue has made me swear like a 15 year old boy at a snooker center). In my case, it’s to a large extent. Because I am an emotional retard (I would like to elaborate on me being an emotional retard, but because I’m an emotional retard, I can’t. Also, if you haven’t stopped reading this entry by now, or, if you’ve known me for at least 2 years and has spent at least more than 8 hours talking to me, you would already know this fact and fully understand it, hence no need for me to explain).
To use a cliché: Real life is messy. It also smells. What I like about immersing yourself in the carefully controlled world of television: for one, things don’t smell, you can’t smell the things on TV. There is also the fact that if things get dull, you can always edit it out. But mostly, it’s because you’re able to be both completely involved and entirely detached from something at the same time with little complications (unless you’re remote control is not working), basically, YOU are pretty much in control of your level of involvement, which is more than you can say real life – half the time, you’re not as involved in someone’s life as you would like to be because they won’t let you, and at other times, you can’t get away from someone as much as you would like to because they just keep coming after you (no, I don’t want to be your best friend, I already have one so fuck off and go watch TV or something.). You can love something on TV to death, take in every single detail of it like oxygen after a jog uphill and when you’re sick of it -change the channel. You can always change the channel. And even though I say it would positively break my heart if JD doesn’t win Rock Star: INXS and I never see him again; I know it wouldn’t, not really (although, I would be upset that I spent 150 bucks worth of SMS only to have to listen to Screamy Psssyyyycho Marty or MiGget the all dancing, all nasal, girlie leprechaun singing for INXS) because there will always be another face, personality, character for me to fuel my delusions with. All I have to do is change the channel. Change the channel. You can always change the channel.
And if this doesn’t hold true, then maybe it really is time for me to turn the damn TV off. Throw it out the window like a real rock star should (did I also mention that I want to be a rock star? I have three pairs of underwear with the word ‘Rock Star’ printed on it. Like you needed to know that. And no, my wanting to be a rock star has nothing to do with JD. It goes a loooong way back but that’s another story.)
And what do you know, right now, at this very moment, the TV is turned off.
Welcome to real life, baby.
It ain’t pretty, after the show…… (Stop it! Stop it! Stop quoting from JD!)
P.S. (pardon my stupid question, but what does P.S. stand for anyway, and can you use P.S. in a blog entry?) To the three friends I went to good, old murky Port Dickson with last weekend: I HAD A FUCKING GOOD TIME GUYS! (And didn’t watch a single minute of TV, at that). Who knew you could have so much fun by a seaside shit hole? Also, to that one very drunk friend – umm, please explain how you can say that I suck and that you love me at the same time – do you love me in spite of me sucking, or do you love me because I suck? If it’s the latter, my friend, you have issues.
Also, to end this entry, I should probably apologize to everyone that I have caused great boredom to by my endless talk of my latest TV/ music/ movie/ literary/ sport/ *insert random topic here* obsession which you do not share. I’m sorry to have imposed my love for someone else upon you. Hey, all this love (or as Celine Dion would say it – laaarrr, no offense, Canadians- Go Canada! I laaaarr JD) I have inside has to be channeled somewhere, and it seems such a waste to let it go to someone in real life.
Oh, and Mr. Jason Dean Bennison @ JD Fortune, will you live in sin with me, in mental sickness and in physical health, till my next obsession / delusional fantasy do us part?
Turn off the TV; it’s time to do great things.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“ Tu entre todos los seres tienes derecho a verme débil ”
(You among all beings have the right to see me weak).
- El Dano (The Hurt); Pablo Neruda
At least I think that’s what it means.
You set out in search of your destiny. You end up watching TV.
Soul-searching is easy when you have satellite (good, old ASTRO). 93 (100, who cares what the exact number is) channels, 24 hours a day, your soul’s bound to be in there somewhere though you might find it dubbed in a different language. Or you might find that it comes with subtitles that aren’t entirely accurate. Occasionally, you might find your soul interrupted by a five minute commercial break selling everything you don’t need that you must have. Occasionally, you might find your soul interrupted by commercials telling you that your hair is not good enough, that your laundry detergent isn’t good enough, that your health insurance plan isn’t good enough, that your soft drink of choice isn’t good enough, that your skin, your waistline, your car isn’t good enough that YOU aren’t good enough. But it’s all done in a manner so amusing, you don’t even realize you’re being insulted. And they offer you solutions to not being good enough. Buy this and your life will be better which is more than you can say about the people in your life who tell you that you’re not good enough and leave it at that. And if all this doesn’t hold true, you can always change the channel.
And the beauty of TV shows is, no matter how ‘fresh’ or ‘new’ the idea it is said to be, at the end of the day, it always adheres to some kind of formula. Even if there’s a ‘surprise twist’ to the plot, you’re not surprised that they put in a ‘surprise twist’. Which means it always turns out at least somewhat like you expected it to. Which is more than you can say about real life. And if all this doesn’t hold true, you can always change the channel.
On TV, time has no meaning. A whole season worth of episodes can add up to only about a day, an hour can be half a life time, three days can be collapsed into half an hour. On TV, you can be 30 and be the hottest 17 year old in high school. On TV, you can be 45 and have the body of a 20 year old with a driver’s license that says you’re 50. And if all this doesn’t hold true, you can always change the channel.
On TV, there is no dirt on people’s faces unless there is suppose to be. Sometimes, even when there’s suppose to be dirt, there isn’t any. On TV, people are only ugly if it’s pivotal to the plot. Even on the news or a documentary, ugliness is intentional. It’s never just there. And if all this doesn’t hold true, you can always change the channel.
Or you can turn the damn thing off.
And finally listen to your own thoughts. The TV is off – now is the time for reflection, introspection. Get spiritual, ya’ll. But you don’t want enlightenment. You want radiation. You don’t want to listen to yourself. You have nothing worth saying now that you have the television to say it for you, think it for you, do it for you. You want to watch TV till you’re blind, you want to hear the endless cornucopia of sound created in a studio that are readily available in real life till you’re deaf, till you yourself forget how to make any. Until then, you want to watch TV. You organize your social life around your favorite TV shows, you skip classes (where you live, there’s no such thing as TiVo), you sabotage real romantic prospects because you already have a rather fulfilling (albeit entirely fictional) relationship with the hot potato on Mark Burnett’s latest reality TV show even though he looks like Elvis and you hate Elvis, and he’s a Virgo and you hate Virgos. Hey, if he’s on a reality show, he’s real enough; at least it’s not some hokey soap opera character. You pick a major like Communications in college because you want to work on TV but all you end up doing is watching TV. You put off college for six months; you put off getting a job while you’re putting off college because you feel that watching TV is a full-time job. Your family, full of eager, rat-racing professionals considers you to be the black sheep of the family but it’s alright cause you can still be shaved and made into lovely black wool sweaters, you can still be milked, you can still be eaten, you’re just a stand-out part of the flock, which on TV, is a good thing. You put off going to the toilet because you want to watch TV. You surf the net only to Google things that are related to TV, your e-mail inbox overflows with TV updates and you put off reading that one-off email from a long-lost friend because the need to find out what’s in store for the next season of so-and-so show is more urgent. You talk on the phone while watching TV, you don’t care who’s on the other line because you’re not really listening since you’re watching TV, and during commercial breaks, you only talk of TV, till your friends don’t bother calling “just to chat” anymore unless they need a recap of what happened on so-an-so TV show last week (they do however call if they have a karaoke session – your other guilty pleasure – planned, or, they’re asking you to get stoned in which case you say no since you’ve quit that shit a while ago since your parents would string you up on top of KLCC by a single nose hair if they were to catch you doing so, which is really, not really the main reason at all – you say ‘No’ because a) you’re broke from SMSing votes for JD on Rock Star: INXS, b) the stuff has lost its appeal now that you have satisfied your curiosity regarding altered mental states, c) TV has already killed enough of your brain cells and d) YOU WANT TO WATCH TV oh, and for political correctness sake you should probably say e) cause it’s apparently bad and illegal ). Once, you tried moving the TV into the bathroom so you could bathe and watch TV at the same time but you damn well nearly gave yourself: a) a hernia b) electrocution – it’s not so much the bodily harm that you mind, it’s the damage to your television set that you dare not risk. If you lived alone, and had a bathroom that faced the TV room, you would shower with the door wide open so that you could watch TV. If you had the moo-lah (wait, what am I saying? I mean the money) you would have one of those MTV Cribs worthy TV installed in your bathroom, the kind that would pop out of the foot of the bathtub. In an ideal world, where you actually lived alone and not with your parents (one of which is bathtubphobic), you would have a bathtub. You put off sleep because you want, no you need to watch TV, anything on TV, even if you think its rubbish. You say cigarettes are your only addiction, but in truth, if you had to choose between giving up smoking and television, you would choose television, although you hope that the Cosmic Order would never let it come to that. Heck, you put off your whole life because you’re watching TV and you realize, without TV, you have no life, no, wait, you do, and too many it seems a good enough life but without TV, you don’t want it.
And if all this doesn’t hold true for you, then CONGRATULATIONS – you are not me.
You probably have your television set turned off. You probably have a great degree and a great job and a great freaking retirement plan (which involves a cruise around the world). You probably have had at least one real be it bad or good, romantic relationship. You probably have a bathtub. You probably don’t give visiting your poor grandma a miss because she doesn’t have ASTRO. And if none of this holds true for you, then you might as well be watching TV.
You would think that I have the kind of parents that used TV as a parenting device but I don’t. Reading was greatly encouraged (started reading, if not entirely understanding Shakespeare at 11, along with Sweet Valley Twins (haha!) and am no better for it) And my brother was genius (wow, look, I’m giving him a compliment) at coming up with games – indoor football (there goes mama’s photo frame), indoor volley-balloon and elaborate TV-worthy plots involving Lego pieces, one in which my Lego man (name: Kurt Michael, don’t ask why) killed my brother’s Lego man (name: don’t remember) and was imprisoned for it (prison was at the top of my brother’s closet, which at that age, I was to short to reach – not anymore, sucker!), subsequently released but rejected by the rest Lego society and landed in prison again. My sis also built a Lego spaceship with a giant ironing board on its roof (don’t ask why) which provided for countless hours of TV-less amusement. My cousin (milk-stealing freak) used to come over a lot, and him, my sis (the one that didn’t build the ironing board spaceship) and I would jump on my parents’ bed while yelling at the top of our lungs: Jingkari! Jingkari! Jingkari! (no, I actually have no idea what Jingkari means). Yet, despite the abundance of time-consuming, amusing and TV-less activities that I was privileged to be a part of, I do remember finding the time to watch a lot of TV as a kid: 21 Jump Street – Johnny Depp, Johnny Depp, Johnny Depp set the basic model for almost every guy on TV that I’ve had a crush on ever since, give and take a few temporary insanity exceptions –Chadwho?- and also ‘Nam Tour of Duty which I actually remember most for the chubby sergeant which my mom may or may not have liked, a cute lieutenant, and a really great soundtrack –the song Paint It Black by the Rolling Stones has been a favorite of mine ever since – and to my siblings and old friends, shut up, the boyband thing was a temporary phase and it was YOUR fault. Come to think of it, I wonder what effect watching a TV series on the horrors of the Vietnam War had on my 6 year old psyche, and if it did have any negative effect, was it neutralized by also watching Captain Planet (I can still sing you the theme song) and the oh-so-sweet-and-fuzzy My Little Pony & Friends and the I’m-fuzzy-now-but-I-want-to-grow-up-to-be-a-cocaine-snorting-former-child-star Full House. There was also Doogie Howser (yuck, stinking ginger), Satria Baja Hitam a.k.a Mask Rider Black (Japanese superhero series where guy wears black leather, rides a motorcycle and fights rubbery alien monsters with names like Gorgon in miniature Tokyo) and ah, MacGyver, man who gave Swiss army knives and mullets such a good name (and for that, Richard Dean something, your career has been condemned to death). Oh, I must not forget to mention the He-Man and She-Ra cartoons (I also had the books) and Thundercats (I can still sing you the theme song, and the spoof version, and I am Mambra, THE EVER LIVING *insert evil cackle here*).
Anyway, all this reminiscing has made me lose my point. What was the point of this whole entry?
The point of this whole entry is……. to reveal to you how much of a dork I really am – I don’t know if this may come as a surprise or not to you – different people view the same splotch of ink on a card differently, don’t they? – but actually, no, that wasn’t the whole point. The whole point, the whole fucking point as to why I watch TV, and listen to music, and watch movies, and read, and am only able to say certain stuff on a stupid blog when it might serve me better to say it in real life, or not to say it all, the whole fucking point as to why Art and Entertainment exists, is not because it is a reflection of life, but because it’s really a remarkably good way to avoid real life altogether, and WE ARE ALL FUCKING AFRAID OF REAL LIFE to some extent or another (and now, this whole issue has made me swear like a 15 year old boy at a snooker center). In my case, it’s to a large extent. Because I am an emotional retard (I would like to elaborate on me being an emotional retard, but because I’m an emotional retard, I can’t. Also, if you haven’t stopped reading this entry by now, or, if you’ve known me for at least 2 years and has spent at least more than 8 hours talking to me, you would already know this fact and fully understand it, hence no need for me to explain).
To use a cliché: Real life is messy. It also smells. What I like about immersing yourself in the carefully controlled world of television: for one, things don’t smell, you can’t smell the things on TV. There is also the fact that if things get dull, you can always edit it out. But mostly, it’s because you’re able to be both completely involved and entirely detached from something at the same time with little complications (unless you’re remote control is not working), basically, YOU are pretty much in control of your level of involvement, which is more than you can say real life – half the time, you’re not as involved in someone’s life as you would like to be because they won’t let you, and at other times, you can’t get away from someone as much as you would like to because they just keep coming after you (no, I don’t want to be your best friend, I already have one so fuck off and go watch TV or something.). You can love something on TV to death, take in every single detail of it like oxygen after a jog uphill and when you’re sick of it -change the channel. You can always change the channel. And even though I say it would positively break my heart if JD doesn’t win Rock Star: INXS and I never see him again; I know it wouldn’t, not really (although, I would be upset that I spent 150 bucks worth of SMS only to have to listen to Screamy Psssyyyycho Marty or MiGget the all dancing, all nasal, girlie leprechaun singing for INXS) because there will always be another face, personality, character for me to fuel my delusions with. All I have to do is change the channel. Change the channel. You can always change the channel.
And if this doesn’t hold true, then maybe it really is time for me to turn the damn TV off. Throw it out the window like a real rock star should (did I also mention that I want to be a rock star? I have three pairs of underwear with the word ‘Rock Star’ printed on it. Like you needed to know that. And no, my wanting to be a rock star has nothing to do with JD. It goes a loooong way back but that’s another story.)
And what do you know, right now, at this very moment, the TV is turned off.
Welcome to real life, baby.
It ain’t pretty, after the show…… (Stop it! Stop it! Stop quoting from JD!)
P.S. (pardon my stupid question, but what does P.S. stand for anyway, and can you use P.S. in a blog entry?) To the three friends I went to good, old murky Port Dickson with last weekend: I HAD A FUCKING GOOD TIME GUYS! (And didn’t watch a single minute of TV, at that). Who knew you could have so much fun by a seaside shit hole? Also, to that one very drunk friend – umm, please explain how you can say that I suck and that you love me at the same time – do you love me in spite of me sucking, or do you love me because I suck? If it’s the latter, my friend, you have issues.
Also, to end this entry, I should probably apologize to everyone that I have caused great boredom to by my endless talk of my latest TV/ music/ movie/ literary/ sport/ *insert random topic here* obsession which you do not share. I’m sorry to have imposed my love for someone else upon you. Hey, all this love (or as Celine Dion would say it – laaarrr, no offense, Canadians- Go Canada! I laaaarr JD) I have inside has to be channeled somewhere, and it seems such a waste to let it go to someone in real life.
Oh, and Mr. Jason Dean Bennison @ JD Fortune, will you live in sin with me, in mental sickness and in physical health, till my next obsession / delusional fantasy do us part?
Turn off the TV; it’s time to do great things.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“ Tu entre todos los seres tienes derecho a verme débil ”
(You among all beings have the right to see me weak).
- El Dano (The Hurt); Pablo Neruda
At least I think that’s what it means.
