Another Day.


He wakes up. He hasn’t written an entry for a while. He has not been sleeping well. He has been playing too many interesting video games with aspirations to art and meaning beyond the bashing of buttons and the honing of hand/eye co-ordination. He watches Aung Sang Suu Kyi awkwardly hug and kiss President Barack Obama. It is very awkward and reminds him of the way that he often awkwardly hugs and kisses people that he knows. Was she thinking about Dave Lee Travis and the arrest and her endorsement of him earlier in the year? How complicated life is, he thinks to himself, that these two people are connected in such a way as they are. He watches some erotic anime which is neither erotic nor, technically, anime. His hard drive has broken which makes him sad. It may be that it is just the fact that he has lost all of his books and his music and his movies and his language learning courses but it may also be the sadness that comes with the fact that after aiming, seventeen years ago, to learn many languages other than English, he is still nowhere near his goal of learning at least one more language than English. There is a new President of the United States. He looks remarkably like the Old President of the United States. The Capitol is still divided in the same manner. What a sordid waste of money the whole process was. Israel and Gaza throw explosive materials at one another. Children die and become embittered on both sides. He thinks about the last time that he had sex. This was quite some time ago but it involved many devices that he is not used to employing during sexual congress. It was enjoyable but, as with all the times he has had sex, he found himself during it totally and utterly bored, his mind wandering to books that he was reading. At that point it was Atlas Shrugged and Anna Karenina. Two books that he would recommend to everyone but both for very different reasons. He meanders through the rest of the day and then decides that he will spend all the time before bed in the nude. Then he goes to bed.

Published by

The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s