You know what the problem is with resolutions? You feel more and more foolish the longer you stick to them. All resolutions imply a denial of some sorts. You might argue that a resolution to exercise more helps you gain health. You don’t gain health when you exercise. Health is merely the denial of sickness. When you exercise you put millions of hard-working bacteria and virii, not to mention a bunch of protozoans and fungi, out of business. Their economies go into a tailspin and they have to resort to strange tactics to recover. Be thankful they haven’t started an ‘Occupy healthy people’ or a “We’re the 99.99%” movement. Notice how my attempts to write a serious piece about the problems of keeping resolutions petered out into the usual snide asides and topical references. Actually I don’t have much of either so unless I can come up with something quickly, this post is going to run into a dead end. The word count won’t look too good when it says One sixty nine. Incidentally when I wrote one sixty nine, it became one seventy. I find that amusing.
But to return to the problem of resolutions, each resolution implies denial. People don’t make resolutions about gaining weight or smoking more. Hedonism and resolutions seem to be at odds. Each day you stick to your resolution only makes it a bit harder. You start to wonder if you aren’t missing out on something by denying yourself. That cake looked mighty alluring the last time you looked at it, didn’t it? Or if cake is not your poison of choice, though it’s hard to believe that such people exist, then whatever item you’ve resolved to stay away from sure looks like a good time now, eh? I’m betting even that extra poundage you resolved to stay away from seems like a nice idea now, what with all the cold, famine, drought, hangovers, inflation, depression and assorted privations that your denial has brought upon you.
Admit it. You feel like a damn fool for being so headstrong and sticking to your resolutions.Everyone else has kicked back and broken the shackles and look where they are. Shopping for XXL clothing and drinking themselves into a coma, that’s where they are. You, on the other hand, are reading my blog. I’m not complaining. Misfits and freaks like you are my target audience. Always write for people like you. You know just what they want. On a related note, most of the world are normal idiots. How else does one explain so many things that go against the freaks and misfits? Our freakishness and misfitness aside, we’re normal idiots too. It’s just that we have this aura of being on the borderline between normalcy and full-blown lunacy. Choose a side, freaks! Choose lunacy. Lunacy has its roots in the moon. And the moon will soon be the place to be. We already have a head start. We’re on the borderline. I’m afraid the loonies have all the prime real estate in their control. I don’t intend to argue with them. They say such random stuff I’m worried it’ll turn me normal.
And again I veer off a serious note and choose to wander into a cul-de-sac of nonsense. It could have been a lane or a shortcut but it had to be a cul-de-sac. Stop being so noble and living by your own codes. Go ahead. Break all your resolutions. Stop denying yourself the good things in life. Be safe, sane and consensual. Don’t google that last line. I told you not to. Now you’re on a wikipedia roller-coaster all through Risk Aware Consensual Kink straight through to the second moment of area of concrete girders. And it’s been more than an hour since you were here. I had to remotely alter your consciousness and tap into the collective will to change the rotation of the earth to match your computer’s system clock. That last line was a complete crock of shit. But it sounded like a cool thing to say at that time. In three days, I shall break my resolutions. Don’t be scared. I would never do that. I’m one of you guys. We’re all the same. You can read me as well as I can read you. Although it looks like all you consist of is irrelevant trivia, a motley collection of skills and constant denial. What reality do you live in? Choose my reality. In my reality, things happen as I expected them to. One way of doing that is to expect everything. Life, being the bitch that she is, will then do the one thing you had not expected. But since you expected her to do that, it’s happening as expected. Try to wrap your head around that concept. It’s not too hard. It’s harder to wrap flat bread around shredded chicken. I’d advise you to try it. Add condiments, some vegetables, some sweat and grime and it still won’t taste as good as the meanest roll from a corner shop.
As you can see, my mind is a lumber yard. Things wanted, always buried. Gandalf said something similar about Old Butterbur. Now I don’t claim to be Gandalf. My beard is nowhere as bitching as his is. Mine merely whines and complains every once in a while. Also, any stick I whirl and twirl merely flies out of my hand and, more often than not, whacks some innocent bystander who immediately morphs into a balrog and tries to slay me. I made up that last bit also. I am not in the habit of whirling and twirling sticks in public. I merely do it in the privacy of my own home. I’m not deemed important enough to spy on. Damn Newton!
Why Newton? Why not?