I have written and deleted this sentence quite a few times already. I don't know where to start or what to write about. I just felt like listening to the clacking sound of my aging computer. I like to feel that I am in control of whatever it is that has jumpstarted this whole writing bug. I am writing again because I am sad. The reason for my sadness is not important. The tone of what I write and how I write it is.
Whenever I ramble on with nonsensical themes and imagery, I am just plainly sad. Not as verbose as the profoundly sad me. I could not be as eloquent as a diesel engine with a hundred percent efficiency when I am just sad. What encompasses this profundity you may ask? I myself do not know.
I am writing because I am vain that way. This is the superficial me talking. I compensate for a lot of things by exploding verbal fireworks that upon critical scrutiny fails every literary criteria for aesthetics and prose. But most people would not notice that. It's all about the power struggle between the people who knows and who don't. Information is a powerfult thing. Control of information is a devastating weapon. Having unequal distribution of information keeps them doctors and politicians rich and famous.
What does this mean then? I have disjointed thoughts. No cohesion whatsoever. But English sort of works like them smoke and mirrors magicians use to enchant their audiences. Making them believe that the beautiful assistant disappeared into thin air. English in this country makes you seem smarter than you are. Another layer of pretentious armor that prevents people from truly understanding who someone is.
