Running on Empty

I have often wondered, what I could possibly write about if I had not spent the weekend hammered and trying to comprehend how I possibly did what I did. The weekend was spent sober. And nothing, absolutely nothing unusual. I could even generally give a discourse on the fall of socialism in Europe or the disturbing trend of a covert nationalistic obsession sweeping the world. It is frankly strange, how “we are world citizens, bound by no boundaries of state or religion” change into raving Nazis. It would not be unlike the signature Opeth albums, with something so melodic as “To bid you farewell” coupled with something straight out of the depths like “Nectar” both coupled one after the other in The Morningrise. Or I could just write about the foolish and mind numbing articles I spend afternoons reading on football, maybe I could make up some rumours. Ronaldo’s hernia has resurfaced because he dove on concrete while playing with 7 year olds, force of habit you see. I could even talk about the deeply depressing graphic novel which started slow and has turned to a heart breaking tale of the Palestinians, worse it is journalism. Not fiction. It hurts slightly more.

But then, would it be worth talking about it? (Co-incidentally the Economist talks about one of them and I spend my spare time thinking about the others.)

I was just imparted a casual statement made through a distracted mind, I was told all about staying happy in the moment (It was a solitary line, no evaluation and philosophies), now I am again tempted to take that statement and micro analyze, tear it to shreds, build it back again. But I am not into a phase of life to talk about something in a dry often deadened tone of self disapproval.
I once wrote, things are lukewarm, not is it frying in hell hot nor is it skiing on the slopes of the Alps cool.
I disapprove of this disappointing metaphor. Callous, unimaginative and so very mediocre.
It is not imaginative to make a statement that I have dug myself into a rut of self assured mishaps; I build myself up to monstrous lonely peaks, you breath in gasps, the view is gratifying but not for too long-
“The projectile will now descend, fasten your seatbelts, enjoy this one.”
I love going down, the excitement is tremendous. Puns. Another mediocre substandard attempt.

I call it a day.

I have so much more to say, describe, contradict and even ridicule. But it needs to be fueled.
Fill ‘er up