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Common sense started to die around the 2000s. It is very dead now.

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If your only choices are 2 different shades of shit, I would still hope that you go for the shit that's not trying to be the one shit to rule them all. You have already been thrust into some kind of darkness, so don't give in and let yourself be bound by it. Opt for the faint glimmer of hope. Spread the word. Otherwise be doomed eternally and don't you dare come crawling back because your life has become an absolute fucking disaster; because some grotesque clown and his insufferable cronies have yet again found a new, lower level of scumminess. You've been warned.

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Time flies like night skies,

moving almost imperceptibly.

Yet when the new dawn cries,

can you always face it readily?

Perhaps inaction equals satisfaction for some,

a lapse in traction prequels distraction, nor become

those who wait a better version of themselves.

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What was once worth only a mere, fleeting glance, has become a permanent fixture. Not one that I approve of, or enjoy, sadly. Irreversible, as it stands. And yet, moving forward with mud-treading steps; dragging myself through the vast, clogged-up recesses of existence; a sombre gait, as if chained to enormous, leaden receptacles filled with oily-slick treacle-tar. Every now and then I consider turning around and taking just a little sip, but even if it would lighten the weight, the painful inedibility would simply erode my innards all the more. So perhaps it's best to just heave onward. Forward. Somewhere.

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Bleak prospects. Fuck knows.

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Nothing agile about it.

I just saw a job post where "Agile methodology" is a requirement and it was thrown around like the be-all-end-all. Looking at any of the graphics that explain this "concept", I fail to see why this is even called agile. Any business out there is in an uncertain environment and has to adapt to everything from economic crises to pandemics and everything else, all day every day. So there's the list:

Plan. 2. Design 3. Develop 4. Test 5. Deploy 6. Review

How else are you going to do it though?! Come up with an idea, try to think about how it's going to work, bring it into reality, make sure that it actually works, get it out there, check it continues to do what it's supposed to. It doesn't get any more basic than that. And there's fuck all agile about it. And having this "concept" as the general cycle for your business or product isn't agile. It's common sense at best.

So fuck off with your dumb-ass wanna-be management theory bullshit that's just recycled and repackaged basics from eons ago. Maybe get a hobby or something..

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Why are people so disgusting? Why do you have to spread your disgustiness all around? Why are you so useless and oblivious in general? Get a fucking grip.

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N uff

Is it enough? Is it ever enough? Has it ever been enough? And why bother anyway?

Maybe it's enough. Maybe it's been enough, too. Why am I even worried?

Will it have been enough, despite thinking that, when it wasn't enough, it should be enough? And who's to say it really is enough?!

How do you know? Is there some kind of enough-o-meter out there? Never mind the critics; they don't know anything to begin with.

Hear, hear! But enough of that now..

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Well, let's see how that develops. I went in with 0 expectations and, fortunately, they were exceeded. Now it's down to the nitty-gritty and from there...who knows? Maybe more? Maybe other avenues? We shall find out shortly, I'm sure.

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Chairbound musings

It is interesting to observe how very small groups of people, in chance encounters and being total strangers, seem to develop almost healing binds through conversation, if they dare to engage at least. Of course, it is easier to just ignore everybody else, but if they don't, it can be anything from passing time amicably, to sharing information, sorrow, happiness, and a whole host of other things. Truthfully, I can never be bothered joining these sorts of congregations, but I do like observing them all the more. Silently watching (most likely) ephemeral relationships unfold, the little quips, shared burdens and worries, perhaps a healthy dose of optimism..there's something to it, I find. Despite my general mistrust and dislike of fellow humans.

I wonder how much influence the setting, the backdrop of you will, has on these encounters. Whether it is conducive or detrimental. Surely each participant's mood and overall condition must play a role in it. Temporal constraints, reasons for being there, any number of factors could be listed; too many to count perhaps. We are complex organisms indeed, but I still have no desire to become any more involved than absolutely necessary. Maybe some day I will feel differently, but I haven't for the past few decades and vastly prefer my non-interference stance.

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Overheard

"We all make stupid mistakes sometimes..."

Couldn't agree more.

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The key to the attic

The key to the attic,

hung above the exit sign.

The key to the attic,

given want, it could be mine.

The key to the attic,

where faint mementos blur the line.

The key to the attic,

dusty footprints, faded, thine.

The key to the attic,

must not be taken down. Fine.

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My body is a temple. An ancient Egyptian one. With crumbling columns, barely able to hold up any semblance of remnants. With faded floor mosaics, ground away by harsh weather and washed out by the unforgiving tides of time. With cracked steles that were once very presentable, but now only tell a story of ruination. With an air of hallowed knowledge and rites, long forgotten, discarded and condemned by those that came after. With a sigh that reverberates through the valley and dissipates among the heavens.

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love thy neighbour

Endless shouting. The same all over again. Day in and day out. Forcefully shutting doors in the shoddy one bedroom apartment with the paper-thin walls isn't going to solve that, or even drown out the sound for the surrounding inhabitants. I wish it did, but it doesn't and won't, so I'm sadly stuck with the unwanted aural intrusion once more.

You'd think that these people would realise that they are both awful human beings and shouldn't spend any more time together, but at this point I have to assume that both are desperate and spineless enough to just continue this charade, no matter how utterly ludicrous the whole situation is.

So, if you find yourself shouting at the person you share an abode and perhaps a bed with, every day and time that you are together, then please, fucking please, consider calling it quits and acknowledge that each of you will be better off without the other one. What a useless pair of meatbags.

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Metamothosia

It's been non-literal ages, but it doesn't feel that long ago. Not really. And as we all know, time doesn't heal wounds; it only makes the scars appear a little less prominent. But what if the scar hasn't even formed yet? What if there's only a festering, maggot-ridden, open wound, agape since forever? With tattered edges and attempts of scabbing over, but that never went anywhere, because some pus-phlegm-ooze keeps drooling from it every time you dare to take a peek, hoping it had gotten a teensy bit better by now. Alas, it hasn't yet, still. And you find yourself picking at it every now and then, much like people scratch their head or stroke their mighty hipster-beard; without conscious effort. It just happens and then you stare at your bloodied fingertips once more, looking for something to wipe them off on. A long-time-stained and frayed shirt, perhaps, that has taken on the colour of something between crimson and rust, bitten by moths that have come to like the faint extra traces of iron in their meals. So you sit there, cradling the borderline-vampiric moths you have incited, and who may very well lay their next offspring in your unceasing wound. This way, it is providing some comfort and nourishment, at l(e)ast. And while that may seem counterproductive to the untrained eye, it is not. For it is a matter of perspective. Life begets death and death begets life. Always, either way. Sleep well.

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Accurate cryptid history lesson

Maybe, just maybe, a weirdly holy, decidedly anti-undead relic, that unapologetically revivifies and indeed strengthens any organic materials well beyond their ordinary capacities, which has carelessly been sunk off the coast of what is now New Orleans, way back in the fictional 1700s, would eventually produce an entity that could colloquially become known as "Buff Kraken", which is periodically terrorising the northern Gulf of Mexico and adjacent waters since then, to great effect. Perhaps it has been recruited to watch over the gates of R'lyeh in the meantime as well. Who's to say it's not lurking out there right now, in all it's squishy goodness of ancient supernatural fuckery? Is it the real reason behind catastrophic submarine failure? Could we send more useless billionaires down there and start forming a mutual pseudo-friendship with it through continuous sacrifice? Will we finally find out its true name? We'll discuss this and so much more on the next episode of ...---*static*

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Priorities

I was meeting a friend at a bar and happened to wear this lovely shirt with a still from Princess Mononoke on it, above which it says "KILL THE HUMANS", and underneath the picture it says "SAVE THE FOREST". Upon ordering a couple of drinks, one of the bartenders walks over, puts his arm across the lower text to sort of block it and says "The top part is enough." Then I said "Sure, good start, but forests need saving. Otherwise, whatever's left is fucked anyway." They thought about it for a moment and agreed.

While it would be a tremendous achievement to rid this planet of humans, chances are it won't happen all at once, and until such time, the few sensible ones should ensure that forests and other wildlife habitats remain intact and ideally flourish.

KILL THE HUMANS. SAVE THE FOREST.