weltschmerz (VELT-shmerts)
Oye oye
I'm feeling fukn tragic.
Ever had one of those lunchtimes where everyone you encountered on the street, in the post office and in a restaurant was rude and miserable?
At a buffet restaurant, a woman elbowed me in the neck while squeezing past me with an abrupt "Excuse me". I spat my half chewed greens back onto my plate and glowered at her, but she was insensible to it. What started off as a smiley encounter at the P.O. descended into a series of remonstrations and recriminations where the clerk berated me for not addressing the envelope correctly in Chinese. I had no excuse to offer, only a plea for understanding.
But then I had a nice encounter with yr coffee lady and her sister's children and it sapped me of my anger, leaving me only with an unaccountable feeling of loss.
I wish I were Saddam at the height of his power and poetry.
I wish I were Kim Jong-Il in his train speeding across Siberia, soaked in whores, champers and caviar.
I wish I were Ferdinand Marcos grooving on his wife's shoe collection and shaking his head gently as if to say 'women'.
I'm feeling fukn tragic.
Ever had one of those lunchtimes where everyone you encountered on the street, in the post office and in a restaurant was rude and miserable?
At a buffet restaurant, a woman elbowed me in the neck while squeezing past me with an abrupt "Excuse me". I spat my half chewed greens back onto my plate and glowered at her, but she was insensible to it. What started off as a smiley encounter at the P.O. descended into a series of remonstrations and recriminations where the clerk berated me for not addressing the envelope correctly in Chinese. I had no excuse to offer, only a plea for understanding.
But then I had a nice encounter with yr coffee lady and her sister's children and it sapped me of my anger, leaving me only with an unaccountable feeling of loss.
I wish I were Saddam at the height of his power and poetry.
I wish I were Kim Jong-Il in his train speeding across Siberia, soaked in whores, champers and caviar.
I wish I were Ferdinand Marcos grooving on his wife's shoe collection and shaking his head gently as if to say 'women'.