Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Planting rice is never fun.

Given a range of ideas, concepts and visuals, clients will often choose the most boring one.

Some friends consulted an expensive psychic once, who, after telling them the future, told them about their past lives. I've always thought it amusing how everyone seems to have been a king, a queen, an empress, a general, a tribal medicine man, priestess, courtesan, or some other glamorous historical figure. I t makes me wonder how people ate, seeing as there were no farmers, fishermen, or other kind of common folk in the past.

If reincarnation were true, I wouldn't be insulted, or even surprised to find out that I was a nobody: a footman, a groom, a gardener, a salesman in some small town. Maybe I was that guy who walked down the back streets of upper-crust residential areas at dawn in the olden days, pulling a wagon filled with urine and feces collected from the townspeople's overnight piss-pots and shit-buckets, for transport and distribution to the outlying farmlands for use as fertilizer.

That would make sense. After all, here I am centuries later, still dishing out crap.

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

Detour

Two kilometres from home, a stretch of road deeply submerged in floodwater brought traffic to a near standstill for two hours. The car's fuel gauge read nearly empty, the temperature reading indicated the danger of overheating, so when an opportunity to make a U-turn opened, I did.

The long way home takes around an hour and a half, goes up easily one side of the mountain then steeply down the other. I stopped about halfway, somewhere near the top, sat on a rock smoking a cigarette. The city below looked somewhat sad; the usual sea of lights was marred by black holes of power outages.

Afterwards, speeding down the lonely mountainside road, there came a sharp feeling of missing someone terribly, but couldn't remember whom.

The trouble with flash floods is that garbage rises to the surface, and things you have already thrown away float back.

Sunday, September 07, 2008

Sundei Skul: Openz Yer Baiblz Wit Me

Job 1: 21

21 "Teh Ceiling Cat giv me cheezburger, teh Ceiling Cat takded mah cheezburger awai. Stil laiks teh Ceiling Cat."

Pastor's gunna kill me nao.