Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Diary's Reluctant Response
Dear Darkening Dawn.
It has come to my notice that you have been persistently bursting my mailboxes, flooding my boxes and whatever unfortunate box I happen to own with these little bloggy things in the hopes of attracting my much sought-after attention, unreasonably demanding for a reply.
I will make this brief, my time being far more precious than yours, as you no doubt know, but I will proceed to explain in a moment regardless, and to concurrently make clear the reasons why you are being, in every sense of the word, unreasonable (synonyms perverse, unfair, difficult to deal with).
This is because I am called Diary. This is obvious. Yet you fail to realise the immediate connotation of this fact! I am called Diary. From the time when the concept of 'diary' was conceived, to the time when the world will end, and (hopefully) the idea of diary as well, my ancestors, my descendants and I have been, are, and will be forced to take up the role of Defult Correspondent. You realise that, just as you have done, so have hundreds of thousands of millions of billions of people done as well, and whenever they need 'a friend in a pocket' - assuming that people keep their diaries in their pockets, which most don't, but nevermind - they immediately turn to us, the Friends To All. We have been written to, written at and written about for the longest time ever and I tell you now that this is absolutely no joke and you should see what some people write to my poor abused family sometimes.
They write us lectures on BOREDOM itself. Can you beat that? I mean like how boring can that be, writing about boredom? Like duh you're bound to get bored, the nature of boredom itself is that it's boring. Oh yes, I mean oh no, we did not know that before.
Yeah. Well at least some people have realised the depth of our sorrow and misery in our quest to offer life affirmation to the General Population, and finally decided to change correspondent and write instead to people more suited to their condition, eg. Dear Kelly.
I advise you to take up your keyboard, grit your teeth and start writing to someone else, I wouldn't know who, Dear Slug or Dear Geniuswannabe, and see what you say about yourself? Yeah, and just as a psycologically safety measure, be sure that when you shape your resolution for this traumatic (as it will no doubt be) change, you remember to clench your fists as well, so that you fingers are screwed in a ball and completely robbed of their ability to communicate through written (or typed) language, and so you can't write to yourself and will never know what you think of yourself either, and well that's just too bad.
Unsincerely,
Diary and co.
It has come to my notice that you have been persistently bursting my mailboxes, flooding my boxes and whatever unfortunate box I happen to own with these little bloggy things in the hopes of attracting my much sought-after attention, unreasonably demanding for a reply.
I will make this brief, my time being far more precious than yours, as you no doubt know, but I will proceed to explain in a moment regardless, and to concurrently make clear the reasons why you are being, in every sense of the word, unreasonable (synonyms perverse, unfair, difficult to deal with).
This is because I am called Diary. This is obvious. Yet you fail to realise the immediate connotation of this fact! I am called Diary. From the time when the concept of 'diary' was conceived, to the time when the world will end, and (hopefully) the idea of diary as well, my ancestors, my descendants and I have been, are, and will be forced to take up the role of Defult Correspondent. You realise that, just as you have done, so have hundreds of thousands of millions of billions of people done as well, and whenever they need 'a friend in a pocket' - assuming that people keep their diaries in their pockets, which most don't, but nevermind - they immediately turn to us, the Friends To All. We have been written to, written at and written about for the longest time ever and I tell you now that this is absolutely no joke and you should see what some people write to my poor abused family sometimes.
They write us lectures on BOREDOM itself. Can you beat that? I mean like how boring can that be, writing about boredom? Like duh you're bound to get bored, the nature of boredom itself is that it's boring. Oh yes, I mean oh no, we did not know that before.
Yeah. Well at least some people have realised the depth of our sorrow and misery in our quest to offer life affirmation to the General Population, and finally decided to change correspondent and write instead to people more suited to their condition, eg. Dear Kelly.
I advise you to take up your keyboard, grit your teeth and start writing to someone else, I wouldn't know who, Dear Slug or Dear Geniuswannabe, and see what you say about yourself? Yeah, and just as a psycologically safety measure, be sure that when you shape your resolution for this traumatic (as it will no doubt be) change, you remember to clench your fists as well, so that you fingers are screwed in a ball and completely robbed of their ability to communicate through written (or typed) language, and so you can't write to yourself and will never know what you think of yourself either, and well that's just too bad.
Unsincerely,
Diary and co.
-+Darkening Dawn+-dreamingat >>8:12 PM