a brief history on gentlemen and douchebaggery

in the beginning there was nothing. let there be light. and the whole 'big bang theory' theme song comes here.

fast forward a few billion years and we have the evolution of man. and woman. at first, i think we can agree that cavemen were pretty much total douches: hey see that hot woman? i want to bang her into the previous century. get my blunt club and hope this little tap on the head doesn't kill her. drag her home to the cave and then procreate like a total baws. get her pregnant? mission accomplished.

and then everything was pretty much uphill from there. for the women, at least. tired of being pushed around and taken for granted, the women eventually started gravitating towards men who would treat them right. this, of course, would not emerge until the earlier parts of the victorian era, but to most, it was worth the slow but steady wait. for the men, however, where once there was a fertile ground of treating them bsctches however they wanted, now was a competition from a new breed - the gentleman.

vying for women's hearts had never been more aggravating. with the unnecessary and elaborate politeness now encompassing courtship. and men now had to develop a sense of courteousness and proper etiquette. though this would become trivial at first, it escalated quickly to a self-competing arms race - one that would consume every man for in the absence of the gentleman trait, one would be relegated to the lower echelons of society and doomed to be paired with what women would accept such defect: the ugly, the poor, the without status and the mentally insane. amongst other things. which, is not a derogatory mention of women in general, but an exemplification of how bad things were to become.

but, not all hope was lost, for with the coming of the digital age, all this was lost (and more). here, my theory falls short without explanation, but the gentleman becomes a dying breed. the prim and proper, probably now being lacklustre and lacking excitement, were left to the ghosts of loneliness and boring conversations, and women would come to chase the thrill of... self-abuse. now, that is obviously an extrapolation, as there are many perfectly-normal men out there even to this day who cannot be called gentlemen but are neither abusive nor neglecting. however, for illustrative purposes, let us assume so, and continue.

so now the prey has become the hunter again, and the extinct (or closely so) counterparts? well, they subside into shadows, awaiting the day they are once again craved for and cherished. but the world is a mixed bag, who knows what will be the new flavour of the century. for all the douchebags getting all the girls they want - your time may be nigh. for all the gentlemen who think they are undervalued and justly so, patience may be your saving grace. and for the ones who are getting what you 'deserve'? maybe it's time for change?

on knowledge

what is the purpose of knowledge? why are people inspired and why do people seek answers? is knowledge finite, and if so will we ever grasp it all? is that possible? why can't we just be ignorant and be happy with that? are we already fully ignorant and happy about it?

it doesn't take a philosopher to ask these questions but if you haven't asked this to yourself, then maybe now would be a good time to think - why is it that we know anything at all? and with the more knowledge, realise that maybe we don't really know anything and we make things up as we go along, grasping to dilapidated constructs and building upon them to serve a primordial instinct - one that fools us into believing we actually know, and that is comforting enough.

i don't ask these things in hopes of answers, but that one day, when i am on my death bed, god will tell me the answers. or possibly in an afterlife. because, really, if i don't believe in such things as a higher being... i would have no comfort of and about knowledge, not in this life, or in a non-existant otherworld.

good mistakes and bad decisions

sometimes, i like to look back on the things i've said and done, and pick out the terrible mishaps that have taken shape. more often than not, they're result of my own doings, but once in a while i think i can pin it on karma or just the universe pms'ing for no particular reason. in any case, sometimes i see these mistakes far ahead of time, even before they've taken place. like a raccoon or some wild animal blinking into the headlights of an oncoming truck, knowing that becoming roadkill is just a long honk away. these are the times when you get to prepare well and brace yourselves for the impact of said decision (or similar whim). kind of like how palliative care for cancer patients doesn't cure the disease (or even alleviate the pain, sometimes), but you run through the motions anyway, in hopes of divine intervention.

sometimes you never see it coming, and even in retrospect, you think to yourself (at least i do), 'wow, did that actually happen? did something go wrong somewhere? because i still have an image in my mind's eye that everything's just fine'. it's these times, which, unfortunately aren't all that rare, that i realise that you can't really expect it to have been any different. how could you expect life not to throw you the odd curveball (against your favour, of course), if you expect things such as serendipity and (un)holy guidance? no, it is very unfortunate that with the sugar, must come the salt; with the optimus primes, the megatrons; with the mercuries, the biebers; with the gandalfs, the edwards. and so, though i may not learn to accept these decisions, i will have to live and let slide all the silly mistakes.

maybe, one day, when all is set, i will be able to look back and think that all of it was just a dream, and nightmares cannot hurt you anyway.

flight of the last pegasus

this piece took me a lot longer than it usually takes me to write. It had been swirling in the primordial soup of contemplation for weeks (months, now) and every time I’d tried to jot something down, I would end up trashing it and starting from scratch. So, for the umpteenth try, here I go, and I hope it finally does the effort justice:

gallop,
gallop,
stay your wings,
feathers folded, tucked and stored;
faster, faster, gather speed,
into this run your heart is poured.

racket, rumpus, clamorous din,
glory-hunters preach your sin;
silence is but all you hear,
a heartbeat conceals overt fear.

the forest clears into a plains,
now seen, their heckles scream disdains;
shots fired, shots fired! whizzing by,
stead your eyes upon the sky.

give chase still, these wretched beasts,
to make your flesh a morbid feast;
and flay the skin upon your bones,
then take that too, for ivory thrones.

thus makes you pray unuttered words,
come images of dying herds;
not stallion, colt, or mare was spared,
those lives, those hearts, those souls were bared.

with this thought strength rises anew,
empowers blood, strengthens sinew;
so faster,
faster,
faster still,
until your grit is at last will,
and body’s form behest mind’s screams,
though break apart it at its seams.

a reverie now takes its hold,
make timid equine souls be bold;
that angels’ wings may come unfold,
and speak of destinies untold;
which harsh winds grasp but cannot hold,
as released free to sunset gold,
so night may come at hours untold,
and bring within a deathly cold.

before a blink has taken place,
and solace spelled upon your face;
comes gravity to pull you down,
reality back in its place.

but steady,
steady,
steady beat,
this breeze will carry one last feat;
cross a ravine, down rolling hills,
the mob gives chase still for its thrills.

but how could they keep up this chase?
of last affronts and lost efface?
as shadows cast farther from you,
the ground takes on a lifeless hue.

for all the green and yellow grass,
is tasteless now, and seems so crass;
in moments all that’s left is blue,
beyond and yonder, clear and true.

so weightless this corporeal form,
that keeps through twilight ‘ternal warm,
and long is lost the lust to feed,
desire sustains the lonely steed.

across the ocean’s mirrored waves,
cast shadows slight, like sneaking knaves;
past when dusk ends, and twilight sleeps,
when moon and stars do play for keeps.

infernal hours thence pass by,
despondence makes a shrill-pitched neigh;
of heart, of soul, of mind is won,
symbolised by an orange dawn.

not unlike ballads ill-rehearsed,
where takes you, erst, my pegasus?
bid spoken fallacies unknown,
please make this life, this love, your own.


* * * * *

but tricksy, all these affairs are,
your mind has carried you too far,
moreso than body ever could, a soiled, deformed and sullied mar;
a blazing light of white and red,
has filled your eyes, and then your head,
before your flight had taken place, that meadow was to be your bed.

in actuality, a twist!, a sordid, somber, fleeting lie, that escape was never to be, for all earthly things come to die;
oh dear, my pegasus, how wrong, this world has treated you – don’t cry – but rest now all your heavy heart, and bid this cold, cruel being goodbye.