Ackpthoo baby!

An end(s)-of-days paranoid is what I've become over the last few months. Resigned myself to the idea that hell is convenient. What's to complain in a place that doesn't give a shit about etiquette, norms, bonds and other jazz. Instantaneously a nearly superhero status of Iceman overcame me. Was sweating beads of trepidation. And all this because I contemplated complete freedom and acceptance of hell. MF freezes because her conditioning of chuntu years kicked in. God was feared eventhough she isn't. Involuntary. Reflex. Conditioning done good. Heels keeled over washed out by deluge of abishtoos. Maya gave CPR. Sputter-to-life soon turned into a gurgle of glee as the nut rushed out at life with open arms. For the moment forgotten. Waiting for it to accost me while reading spoof on Vijay Kanth, while swerving to avoid pothole, fidgeting with blackhead and other such inane instances. The end isn't ashamed to reveal itself. But insipid ties and a taste for family politics glues on like tar. If this isn't sadistic on one's part and masochistic of the other (unbenokwnst) ya lay down and roll in the tar embedding specks of gravel in bosom. Expunge I say. And of course there's no pain. It lives in the head. One last emotion or 50 odd years of surfing emos and being perpetually lost in transition?

Gaah! What the faff. The talk of hypocrite. Rebels, actually registers only mild irritation not when the rut crosses my path but only when it nudges me out of the way. Not punctual. Not particularly ambitious. Hey a Canadian dude bartered a giant red paper clip for a house. SEE!!! Now why's that bit of green and silver stopping us eh? I can't have my cake and eat it too. Never understood it. Why de faff can't I?! It's ideal. That's why I can't have it. That's why no one can have it. Those who think they can, pretend. 2 ways about this thingy...ya don't listen and sink into blisfully willfully ignorant lifestyle reconfiguring means as ends or ya don't listen and look at what's in store in the direction ya don't take (as Kerouac said) with an i-pod doling out mood music by the minute to keep you in the spirit. Oh and I feel terrible for Zizou.