Finding a way around the blocked sites in the office is not helping me with my daily outputs. Today, I spent an entire afternoon combing through “Ringo Have a Banana” supposedly only in search of Alex’ name. Found out too late that instead of extinguishing this impossibly huge fire made of invisible fuel, I am obligingly throwing myself in. Sacrificing myself to the gods in the form of a roasted pig.

The other day, Nicole traveled to my station (highly likely being that we’re only two seats away) and we hung out at Alex’ flickr for the entire day. Moping around, dreaming of Manhattan, Brooklyn, New York, New York! Mocking other people’s lives as rubbish (being that they do not work the normal 8-hour shift), while mourning our own minuscule existences because we are not artistes and we do not have weekend backyard barbecues and Friday night gigs, and because we do not drink beer from the can and we do not have rents to pay on a monthly basis or a New York flat for that matter, because we cannot play around our cameras long enough to take good shots of roaming ducks and cabins in the outskirts of Washington, because we do not go to Copenhagen or New Mexico for the weekend and take vintage grainy photographs of each other with a backdrop of ashes – the reflection of our ghostly dreams. I am hopeless.

And yet, there is hope in hopelessness: the promise of years yet to arrive (albeit being fashionably late). One day; someday. That’s my adage. And tonight, I’ll say it to myself over and over like a mantra ‘til I succumb to sleep and dream some more.

this is an appetizer

An exotic one, can in fact be called outlandish. The kind whose name you can’t pronounce. The kind whose taste you can’t quite define: sweet, bitter or a bit too salty. But surprisingly never bland. Served in bite size. Like hors d’oeuvres in round plates. Complete with garnish. The works. The hilarity.

But my taste lacks sophistication. My tongue curls. In search of a familiar tang. And you have none.

this 2012