While the above title may wreak of consumerism to those sensitive to the issue and thus opens the way to discussing a popular -though overly explored- subject, it is -at this point- little else than a pretext to write a few select words about how lame I've recently gotten, and how that tends to suck more and more every day.
Disregarding the fact, that the paragraph-long sentence is a definite no-no in any half-decent English text (and if I keep this sentence up, hyphens shall be outlawed at some point as well), I intend to tell cyberspace how I lost my previous blog. Yesss, there are still some idiots out there, who simply forget their passwords, along with the answer to the damn safety question. Maybe signing in at least once or twice since January might have saved me some grief. Of course anyone can imagine, that I'm not crying my eyes out over such a thing. That one meagre post isn't worth it. I don't presume the world will be that much poorer without a few thoughts on the aesthetics of underground literature. But anyway, it's a good excuse to beat myself up for one of my many failures, or failings to be more accurate. My brain seems to have the consistency of a mouldy old sponge left under the dripping tap of a cast-iron radiator since the last days of Eastern European communism. Great, now there's a fine picture for you. A further twist to the tale is that this little analogy is strikingly in tune with my life story, though luckily - with us having shed positivism- this current forgetfulness of mine can't be viewed in terms of cause and effect :)).
Well, all this adds up to the simple fact that I have to start this new blog, if I am to flush all the intellectual poison I've absorbed over the years out of my system. I secretly think that the bloody old sponge seems to be failing, because it can't possibly handle the wear and tear of living inside me. Bed-time story over...
1:30 AM, 6th of October 2010
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