Well as everyone can see, it’s been a while since I last posted something online. I’ve been waiting for ideas, you see. And that doesn’t mean I have one right now. It’s just one of those numerous (that’s an exaggeration) occasions when I sit down to write with a mind as empty as a mailbox on Mars.
That reminds me. I saw a joke, on a website. It started off with a loud writing (that isn’t supposed to mean it was actually noisy; it means it was written in large, bold letters) that claimed that water had been found on Mars. I wasn’t too amused, and I scrolled down, because there inevitably had to be a pic. And there was one: a plastic glass of water seated on a bar of chocolate named Mars something or something Mars. Water found on Mars. Imagine that. And there were a number of option buttons below the picture, asking how funny the joke was, ranging from really funny to really stupid. I guess I don’t have to tell you which one attracted my mouse pointer.
I mean, if you have to joke, do it seriously (pun intended).
Of late I’ve been rather concerned about my destiny. Don’t laugh. I’ve read a few books, The Alchemist, and The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari, and they’ve got me thinking. You can see a reflection of that in my article named ‘The Machine’. After you’ve read it, you’ll see why you shouldn’t laugh about things like this.
In other news, I’ve been trying to put down a story. It’s named ‘The Mirror of Real’. Originally it was supposed to be quite short, — two or three pages in Microsoft Word, but halfway through (that’s actually half a page through) I changed my mind and built idea upon idea till the plot was quite large, and now it’s the ninth page running, so you can no longer say that I had an idea halfway through, because half a page could have been halfway through the length of my old plot, but now that the story is so big, I don’t think I can any longer say that I had a revelation ‘halfway through’ the story. In fact, I can’t even tell how much way through the story I had the idea, quarter, three quarters, five-sevenths, nothing, because I don’t know how long the story is going to be. I don’t know if it will be eleven pages or twenty-two. That’s how my mind works. As disorganized as, well… hang on, let me search for a simile… oh yeah, as disorganized as me, what else. Ha-ha.
My jokes are as stupid as a glass of water on a bar of chocolate.
Oh, good idea!
Rate me: Really funny; Quite funny; Er… funny, I guess; Okay-okay types; Um… not too good, really; Really stupid.
(Proud owner of an empty mailbox on Mars.)