Why Must I Be A Twenty-Something In Love?

Posted: December 2, 2015 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

I’m not being rhetorical.

Answer me.

And don’t go going all gone clever by offering up a rhetorical answer in return.

Because that’s childish and I can promise you this…I will win in such a battle of witlessness.

I’m too slow for you.

So, pretty much I met a girl about 9 years ago when I was aged 17.

And I fell in love with her.

I fell like Newton’s apple though with less universal consequences and a worse headache.

And the bump on my head (by the way; I’m fully aware of how sickly this analogy currently is) never wavered or diminished throughout the torment and woe of heartbreak and separation, throughout numerous breakups, antagonisms and years apart.

And recently I fell again, for the girl again, and again I am beginning to realise, with horror and joy, that this is the long trip of my life and I am not likely to reach the destination.

Likely because I perpetually feel as though I have arrived.

And arrived well.

I always presumed my bump was bigger.

The difference; I can see her bump too now.

And, apparently, it’s a bump to rival mine.

And the effect of these two bumps entwined, like the utterly bizarre emotions they transmit (I’m talking about entwined headbumps for fuck sake), is that I talk like this.

Dopey I am.

Doomed with a grin and a good cause for both.

Tendency to drool.

Such is life…when as absurdly lucky as it has played out for me.

I wouldn’t change a thing.

Sam

P.S. I’m so sorry. I am also fully aware of the decent lack of logic throughout this, though still probably a little less aware than you.

I am so sorry.

Maybe If I Type for a While; Preferable Consequences Will Occur.

Posted: December 1, 2015 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

Getting started on an idea is much like this sentence; you just start saying something and prompted brilliance will rise itself to breach so as for you to do as thou please with it.

You see, the brilliance only arrived owing to not wishing to be rude.

It observed the situation and realised it was rather relied upon and so took the initiative of turning up.

All rather brilliant really.

And brilliance is a wonderful commodity to have.

Just look at the sun (sure, actually do that).

The sun is brilliant.

Try ye not to deny it and don’t say you weren’t trying to deny it either. Because that’s almost confusing.

And ‘confusing’ is my thing.

‘Confusing’ is the mark of someone I want to stand near.

Because positive consequences, or a few of the other kind too, are sure to happen if they continue as such.

Hey, perhaps the world made up of reasonable assumptions regarding whom one should stand near. And I like to make my reasoning along this line: a good friend should be slightly frightening.

Get a frightening friend and the “Ooo-Ooo Good Things” will happen, or at least something will happen.

Comfort zones are for people.

And I am not a person.

I am an ape, the very next ape, and I am in a rushing of living, urging myself forward to begin and end and thrust myself and expel myself into all manner of frays, occasions and sparky joys.

Because, this way some things, likely “Ooo-Ooo Good Things”, are sure to start happening.

All because I began.

And this is brilliance.

And this is confusing.

I must have written it. With an ambition to improvise.

How like me.

Sam

P.S. I spent my evening belly dancing. Consider this proof.

How to Query, Since You Asked So Poorly

Posted: November 30, 2015 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty., Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Why is oil the only thing still currently measured in barrels?

Why not apples?

Or wily scamps avoiding the coppers having pocketed some old soft gents watch?

How much oil equates to a barrel?

Is it the height of a scamp?

Is there a young orphan boy with a roguish grin and a pep-step kept perpetually within barrel production warehouses, having barrels brought up to him and his height (his height and him?) whereby a soulless chap with no grin a’roguish and no step a’pepy and only a hardhat and no future to his name begins to approach.

At this point the chap, so much a miser he even hates penguins (especially when they topple over), holds the barrel up to the scamp’s body and emits a: “Yeah. S’pose that’s a measurement of oil for sure.” and then proceeds to simply leave the orphan child to himself.

Now we encounter sadness.

Remember, being roguish and alone is a false economy unless you show what you were roguish with to another.

How do they keep the scamp there?

Do they feed him pocket watches?

Barrels are the preferred method of the enlightened as a means of getting to the bottom of hills, whilst also being shit as a means of ascending them.

Personally, arriving dizzy gives a man a far greater measure of the location than had he arrived typically and…therefore…morose.

Dizziness gives one a superior perception of the room, particularly in the direction you aren’t attempting to look.

My people and I are well versed in the visual layout of the bottom of our more proximate hills.

It’s a preferred rallying point following our hill-top functions.

The top of a hill seems like a mighty place to debate opinion.

Perhaps owing to subconscious reminiscing and a surging forth of prior emotions relating to a youthful victory in the sport of ‘King of the Castle’.

I might argue a little more persuasively and a tad more vehemently under the sway of temptation to see my opponent, most likely my girlfriend, tumble.

Or more likely; roll. She tends to keep a barrel nearby for her gravity-inspired commute.

I’ve never seen her use it for measuring oil though.

How clever of her.

Sweetheart.

What might be superior an oil measurement to barrels?

Litres.

What is the easiest location to shoot fish?

The difference is clear.

Nobody shoots fish in a litre.

Thanks for your time,

Sam

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