My life in seasons of a show

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“This shit show of a life we are living in, doesn’t it make you think someone is totally calling the shots from somewhere else? Like some last season alien video game with enough outrageous drama in it to think it was written by monkeys?“ GunRoswell

My life in seasons of a show

Ages zero through ten were the prequel, simply to setup the show, the preface, the prologue if you will, just a trial run to see if anyone was interested in watching it at all.

Hitting the teens and turning twenty something, the rebel area and the adulthood, when running amok totally confused. So real for sure no writer could me that shit up?

Thirty, forty yeah, not feeling sporty but perhaps trying something on for a size, a life? The thing everyone is talking about. The thing you’re supposed to be living. The good years? Well, I fear the writer making my stuff up, fell asleep at the keyboard, snoozing through that time as did I.

Fifty, sixty, well, what can I say? Life is what it is the changes happening, something crappening, and so moving along in a pace, nothing really feeling the same even if deep down inside the kid from ten still exists.

Seventy, eighty, yeah old lady, or something else, whatever it feels like, hitting the big times? Golf anyone? Hey writer! Where the hell did you come up with these scenarios anyway? It’s all just a big cliche!

Ninety, perhaps a hundred? Well, congrats! This is the end goal for some poor souls, and hey, if you have reached this level in the game you can only yourself for it blame!

And so, the aliens playing this boring and stupid game finally realise they should go outside and perhaps develop something a little less of a boring screenplay.

Hell just might be empty, with all them devils running amok in here!

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“Things, affairs, all of it, might be wrong, a lot of them are, but, giving up hope, was never an option, never part of the grand plan either. Was it?“ Gun Roswell

Hell just might be empty, with all them devils running amok in here!

“It’s hell out there! Surely we had some time to spare before it was about to happen I swear!” Someone exclaimed having taken a spun around the neighbourhood, having found it no fun at all.

“Have you seen the latest news?” Another one asked confused of the times. “It’s murder and mayhem for sure and that is the awful truth!”

“I don’t leave my house anymore. Just because it’s such a chore.” The third one chimed, certainly they were not feeling so fine. “Putting all them gear on, the armour or whatnot, just to feel safe and even then you cannot be sure.”

“The kids are all home schooled now, not that its of any use. Them all hanging on their game girls and fun stations, twatting about it all on the internets of things. Such misuse of the time. All of it wasted for sure. But the lure of it all is too much to ignore.” The mum from across the street shouted from the open window, never ever daring to leave her home.

“Truly is sad all of it. In the olden days, well, everything was so much sunnier, funnier, lighter and brighter. And now, it’s all such shades of greys.” A not so old person retorted to the others, from a safe distance but of course.

“Yeah, hell has certainly arrived to our small corner of the world. Then again, what did we expect with all them devils running around in our streets. But we did invite them here didn’t we?” And with that there was no rhyme to be seen, simply a comment of how things had turned out to be.

Caffeine is the best part of the Blood

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“There is something wrong with my circulatory system! There is too much blood where there should be coffee!“ Gun Roswell

Caffeine is the best part of the Blood

The coffee system fully functional most days except sometimes, it tends to fill with some red stuff for whatever reason. And so, the need to get to the nearest coffee station to have it all drained out because leaving it there for too long a time neglected, will cause the body of the coffee person to become infected, and that would stop the caffeine circulation inside the delicate system. And that is a too high cost for any coffee addict to let happen.

A writers life for me!

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“I have been a tinker, perhaps a tailor, certainly not a soldier but tried, oh yeah, certainly some kind of sailor…. What? I’m a writer aren’t I?“ Gun Roswell

A writers life for me!

The uncanny sniper, having everyone in their crosshairs, not to shoot mind you, simply to observe, watch and learn, but mostly there, simply to steal whatever ideas they can from you and that one would be called, the author.

And beware, as no-one is safe from the snide gaze of the patient one sitting somewhere out there, high up, their eyes never leaving their target until they are totally done, getting what they needed, for yet another story to write down.

Life, is a recycle

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“The cycle of life, birth, living, death, a few the smiles, the eternal strife, it’s all simply, a form of things being recycled, am I right?” Gun Roswell

Life, is a recycle

They say all the intellectual properties have all already been done, by the selected few masters, perhaps in the very past, but maybe something new maybe there also and then retweeted by the masses.

Whether it is a simple repost of someone stating something great or even cheering for hate, there are those reposting, everything. Recycling every single word and picture found out there, on the world wide web.

It might be even someone you idolise, having said or done something clever, like your neighbours cat or Baby Yoda, whomever… But the internet of things, where we so much time spend is basically just that, recycling everything and anything.

The same can be said for life.

Whether it is poor choices or old memories, reliving those special and not so special events. Or then simply going through the daily grind, the supposed life.

It’s all the same really, just think about it: Sleep, eat, rinse and repeat. 

And if lucky enough somewhere there smack in the middle of it, maybe having some new idea, a break from the ideal, a trip or a party perhaps?

In school the teachers taught as all they know? Maybe, at least, some of the things, making the information flow, circling around and to everyone.

We as adults move along, repeating the steps of others, our parents, grandparents and so on. Then as parents pushing the learnt knowledge to our offspring, the cycle continues…

At work reusing the already invented and proven processes and methods, as why invent the wheel, it is round anyway and well, a circle. Moving along, in rounded circles.. see the repeating theme here?

Then the trash, yeah, that is the ultimate recycle! But that is a whole other tale, all the stuff we accumulate… and then throw away. Perhaps try not to do that to our lives?

In the end, its all just fine, admitting to it and then moving along with the circle of life! Heck, even the name says it all. Circle, life, recycle?

And so, whatever your belief or faith might just be, in the end, life itself might just repeat after death, a total and complete recycle of beings.

I myself, will certainly want to come back as a cat, that much is sure, as having all the internet cheering for me just being me! But then I would not care about any kinds of cycles, re or not. Except perhaps for a ball of yarn, that’s circular, right?

I’m not evil?

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“To be totally evil? Well it could be a challenge for the future, right?” Gun Roswell

I’m not evil?

I’m not really that evil, am I?

But then again, I a just not a ver nice person either 

And whomever thought differently

Well, guess they will be a tad disappointed

Not getting to lay their blame

On the one person, whom they thought

Was the source

Of everything totally wrong

In the world, heck, even in the universe

But they did not get that chance

I as I do decline 

From the role itself

Being the evil one of course

A day of irritation

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“There is nothing like walking up from the wrong side of the bed, the whole day totally spoiled!” Gun Roswell

A day of irritation

Yeah, it is that kind of day, when all you see around you is chaos and dismay, the short lived dreams, or rather nightmares behind now, but cannot help the display of a frown, a permascowl rather as nothing, absolutely not one single thing, did go right, ever since that alarm clock chimed.

And so, with all the bile sticking into the throat, not even the neighbour’s smirking goat, can lift up the spirits, fingers digging into the thick layer of clothing, only hoping its enough against the weather outside, then headed out the door, the slippery ice road ahead, not helping the mood but instead, going down, luckily the thick ass cushioning the fall, but the snowy stuff, is enough, to irritate the already fowl, sour state.

So, getting up, huffing and puffing, into the car, luckily having been dug out from under piles and piles of the white stuff having fallen from the skies, the night before, so at least, there is that, even if the derrière feels rather sore, but don’t want to be late from work, so heading to the traffic, soon on the highway, at least, on the right lane.

At the office, they all start pouring in, as despite the good intentions of having a happy face plastered on, trying to stay strong, but then, like often, idiots happen, and ain’t that a great continuation for a day ahead, which had already tarted so greatly, and yes, I am stating that quite sarcastically!

Another day of total irritation, how fun!

Tongue on my Cake?

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“The sweet taste of sugary moist dessert, a piece of cake, cream and what is it there on the top?” Gun Roswell

Tongue on my Cake?

The odd looking construct on the top of an otherwise deliciously looking sugary treat?

Something red, albeit plain so, reminiscent more of an organ of the mouth than perhaps what it was supposed to be?

A piece of strawberry perhaps? But why cut it in to this particular format?

Anyway, if you get past the initial shock of what the heck just there on the plate dropped?

Well, it turned out to be a berry, the strawberry to be exact and the taste?

Delicious-o!

Simply try it yourself!

I don’t really have a life, do I?

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“Living inside a fantasy world inside one’s own mind can be dangerous they said. Still it is much better here, than anywhere else, so why should I want to leave?“ Gun Roswell

I don’t really have a life, do I?

Life?

What is this thing everyone keeps talking about – life?

It is a rather difficult of a concept to grasp

And someone even suggested it doesn’t that long last?

So why then bother?

Why not simply live inside the most perfect make believe world?

Created by the twisted mind and then oneself having into it hurled

But, by choice, as all the many voices there

Bring comfort and care, never ever despair

And so, the conclusion?

Is there life outside one’s mind?

Or is all of it out there simply a concoction of someone much smarter?

And all those living their supposed lives?

Simply mere players in someone else’s mind?

So many things to do, so little time?

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Grogu – Star Wars

“Procrastination be thy name, or at least that could easily be my name” Gun Roswell 

So many things to do, so little time?

There is always something on the to do list, that something or actually many such things, which seem to forever exist, remaining undone for a any kind of reason or just the one, which could easily be as excused with the lack of time. Alas, the simplest answer is incorrect because there totally is something I need to confess. The reason behind not completing these many tasks, which constantly are haunting on that damned list from the distant past is quite simple and nothing to make me at least laugh, as the ugly truth finally is revealed, I am feeling no less healed. But here goes, as I am trying some truth here unfold. So, the reason as to why some of the tasks on my eternal todo list always remain undone, is this. I really, really don’t want to do them. I am sick and tired and completely fed up to the hilt of having all kinds of chores waiting for me whenever there is even one single slot of any kind of free time left from the regular daily grind. I simply want some slack time and maybe after when I’m feeling fine, I can try, to finish the list!?