This is out of boredom and eagerness to write something before actually going on a internet hiatus (mungkin) in order to indulge reading Trainspotting (Irvine Welsh) I’m only through the first twenty pages but I kept laughing every five minutes. It’s hilarious, and sad, in many different ways. In thick Scottish accent. It’s a kinda feeling you get when you read To Kill A Mockingbird. Except that it’s about doing heroin instead of childhood innocence and scary neighbours (they’re called cunts instead)
I’m in a good mood since morning, save for my lips are a little chapped, so what the heck.
It is September after all, the month of supremacy.
***
Sometimes, I could be the largest ignorant in the world when it comes to trivial things like ironing every inch of your shirt, or whether you should write properly for a submitted homework, or why people like to fuss over different styles of wearing tudung. It puzzles me, actually. Because I couldn’t be bothered.
I don’t see the point, really, whether people would care if you’d wear green or purple, whether you’d have different hairstyles, and so on, and so forth. They’d notice, yes, but they won’t care. Even if they do, it wouldn’t last more than a minute. Or only a friendly gesture like “Oh, cool shirt dude” and you’d go thinking about it for weeks. As if you’d get a fucking medal. Naturally, I don’t give an inkling.
This may, in effect, contribute to the fact that I get bored most of the time when surrounded by a lot of normal people, in classes, and hanging out with the same people (it doesn’t matter who). But I’m trying to be more decent. Every single effing day.
Perhaps I do, actually care, you know. But I shall always regard many things as unimportant, because what matters most is the idea, and not the presentation. But of course, a presentation/action of an idea/thought, must convey the greatness of an idea, in order for people to appreciate/understand what is to be conveyed, but in that aspect, I fail miserably.
This failure of mine, in return, results in such awkwardness, tactlessness, indifference, boorishness, incoherence, sarcasm, and all that shite.
Because I know, deep in my own consciousness, that I have a real different conception on morality, that it tortures me whenever I don’t feel guilt over anything I say, do, or think. Lack of remorse, they say. There’s an actual term for it, actuallyLike the stereotypical idiom goes, as we can imply here, I “see things in a different light”. Ugh.
So when you finally care, you don’t really look like it. You end up offending people, undermining them, confuse them, make them go wtf, and whatever comes next.
perkaraperkara 