Our topic for today is hate. Yes, hate, as if there weren’t enough nega already swirling around, and we want to add to the general nega of things. Ya got that, the general nega of things! How do we define hate? Because we’re so lazy to even check the dictionary for an operative definition, and our brains have turned to mush from old age, we are just going to define hate by giving examples!
Hate is that feeling we have towards mutant alien cockroaches, after they have outsmarted us by deliberately walking on crevices so we couldn’t stomp on them, or whenever they resort to that very cheap but very effective tactic– FLYING!!! Eeeeeep! Hate is when we see in Facebook that our friends from decades ago have now gone places and are actually mature and whose profile pics, in fact, are their transvaginal ultrasound results, while we still get all giddy at the thought of having Jollibee Chickenjoy for dinner because it’s the most gourmet thing we could afford! Hate is what we feel when we’ve been falling in line all day for cotton candy in the school fair, only to be told by the time it’s our turn that they’ve run out of sugar! Hate, is when we start referring to ourselves in plural, because we have multiple personality disorder! Hate!!!! Hate!!!! Hate, only to be transformed, by the Red Lantern of Rage, into… RAGE!!!! RAAAAAAAAAGE!!!!
This is what happens when you listen to rap songs about hate on constant repeat for one whole day. I’ve just realized that the things I write about are always affected by the music playing at the time, like two years ago when I was listening repeatedly to that song which was subliminally about cunnilungus, all my entries turned out to be all about caves, crevices, bushes, and fig trees.
So I don’t have the urge to kill at 3 am in the morning or wrap my cousin in Christmas lights and push him in a stinking bath tub, but I get to write an entire paragraph on hate. Henceforth, to counterbalance things I am now shifting to Carrie Underwood and it’s starting to take… immediate effect. Because you know what, sometimes the mountain you’ve been climbing is just… a grain of sand. And when you see that love is all that matters after all it would sure make everything seem… so small. Zoloft, Marty, Zoloft.
The continuing chronicles of Jose Dalisay Jr., aka Butch Dalisay, a Filipino collector of old fountain pens, disused PowerBooks, '50s Hamiltons, creaky cameras and typewriters, VW spare parts, poker bad beats, and desktop lint.
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