Monday, 11 August 2008

Selected Aphorisms & Sketches

I've been feeling generally crap the last while, and horrible today. I thought I'd share a few bits written in various bad, bad times. I make no excuses for their quality, they were simply designed to keep me going. Also, while they may seem bleak, they were uplifting at the time.

i) It's the length of the fight that counts, not the outcome, which has been fixed from the start.

ii) If the soul is in constant rebellion against itself, see you find other things to rebel against.

iii) In affairs of the mind, take care you know where your mind is, and do not lose it on the way.

iv) Others need you more than you need yourself: take heart in that and fulfil their needs.

v) All is unhappiness - therefore be happy!

vi) Responsibility gives the lie to the means, the method, and the will.

vii) A facility with words - a brain full of turds.

viii) If there's only one way out, please, tarry at the exit.

ix) The tunnel is long, dark and endless. Light a candle!

x) The matches are wet. The wick has perished. Buy new ones!

xi) The view all lit up is dank, drear and dark. Get plastering! Put up pictures! Wallpaper the slimy stones. Light a fire. Block off the hence and the thither. Have a party!

xii) Worthless thoughts from a worthless man. Then redefine worth.

xiii) I am a state of mind. All deeds are part of my statement

xiv) 1st man: "Life is not worth living."
2nd man: "No, you are wrong. Death is not worth dying."
3rd man: "You are both right: both states are meaningless, life is a bad joke, but that is no reason to kill myself. If life is meaningless, death is too, so carry on, carry on..."
4th man: "You are all wrong. Life is worth living and death is worth dying. The first attitude is despair, the second escapism, the third ostrich-like. Mine, the fourth is the attitude of the fool. But at least it is better to be a fool than stupid."

xv) God was sitting in his study, groaning. He'd been on the piss for a couple of thousand years, celebrating the last job, and his head was killing him. If Michael and Gabriel hadn't poured all his drink down the bog, he'd still be at it. But, sobering slowly, he reached for his diary. The page was blank, apart from the date: New Year's Eve, 1999. "Well bugger me," he muttered. He looked at his watch. "Oy! Get those bloody fires ready you bastards!" He stood, swaying slightly, and picked up a bundle of newspapers, firelighters, and a can of petrol. He patted his pockets, searching for matches, then looked on the mantlepiece. "Christ Almighty! Where the hell did I put me bloody lucifers?"

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