Oh Boogie
Hello!Welcome to www.whispering-bliss.blogspot.com!
You were never a good father. Neither were you anywhere fantastic.
Truth be told, if ever the day comes where I get to see you on your death bed. The words from me, would not be those that give you relief or pride of your own.
They would be to quicken your painful death. Bring forth the shame. And pour more pain into your fatigued mind. Your soul will not leave a memory in me.
Mark my words. You were never a good father. You were never a fantastic father.
I do not see you as my father.
You shattered my image of you. I had always thought you were strong. But hell no. I was wrong.
Should your birthday come again. I will forget.
Should Father's day come next year. I will be blind to your presence.
All you are, is someone who fetches me to work on Sundays, and home from work during the weekends. And the provider of my dinners whenever it's fit.
But, whether your or our familiy or the world likes it or not. In my eyes, you would never be my father. For I know what my two brothers do not. I'm not ignorant. And I'm a very lousy actor.
I hope you noticed, that I almost never acknowledge your presence. I do it on a whim. And recently, I thought I should show you some respect. But no. I take it back now. I think this is going to be a permanent arrangement.
Hate is a strong word. Very strong.
I hate you.
idiocy
My ideal working room will include:
A gargantuan table.
A infinite amount of potato chips.
An obscene flow of plain water, or bandung at my snappy decisions.
A perversely expensive computer or Sony Vaio.
A row of power points to power whatever I want.
An intelligent air-conditioner.
A really comfortable bed.
A not so ergonomical chair, but a normal roller chair will be fine.
No windows, just artificial light.
Internet, a bloody fast one. Not the one school uses.
Pens and lots of paper.
And
Candy.
I would love to have that room just for work.
I'm beginning to realize that they're some people, who don't see why things are done in the manner they are. The effects that they have, so subtle, so minor. Yet, they've been done the way they are, all the while, in the manner they have been accomplished, for a good, donkey, number of years. Who are we to question, centuries old of protocol and procedures?
Questions I guess, are appreciated. But, shouldn't they be processed before they're put out onto the windows for scrutiny and critique? We're students. We're here to learn. We're not here so much so as to challenge someone who has years of experience. They have the expertise, and have held onto it, far longer than we have.
One should not question why it is, but why should it.
Truth be told, if ever the day comes where I get to see you on your death bed. The words from me, would not be those that give you relief or pride of your own.
They would be to quicken your painful death. Bring forth the shame. And pour more pain into your fatigued mind. Your soul will not leave a memory in me.
Mark my words. You were never a good father. You were never a fantastic father.
I do not see you as my father.
You shattered my image of you. I had always thought you were strong. But hell no. I was wrong.
Should your birthday come again. I will forget.
Should Father's day come next year. I will be blind to your presence.
All you are, is someone who fetches me to work on Sundays, and home from work during the weekends. And the provider of my dinners whenever it's fit.
But, whether your or our familiy or the world likes it or not. In my eyes, you would never be my father. For I know what my two brothers do not. I'm not ignorant. And I'm a very lousy actor.
I hope you noticed, that I almost never acknowledge your presence. I do it on a whim. And recently, I thought I should show you some respect. But no. I take it back now. I think this is going to be a permanent arrangement.
Hate is a strong word. Very strong.
I hate you.
idiocy
My ideal working room will include:
A gargantuan table.
A infinite amount of potato chips.
An obscene flow of plain water, or bandung at my snappy decisions.
A perversely expensive computer or Sony Vaio.
A row of power points to power whatever I want.
An intelligent air-conditioner.
A really comfortable bed.
A not so ergonomical chair, but a normal roller chair will be fine.
No windows, just artificial light.
Internet, a bloody fast one. Not the one school uses.
Pens and lots of paper.
And
Candy.
I would love to have that room just for work.
I'm beginning to realize that they're some people, who don't see why things are done in the manner they are. The effects that they have, so subtle, so minor. Yet, they've been done the way they are, all the while, in the manner they have been accomplished, for a good, donkey, number of years. Who are we to question, centuries old of protocol and procedures?
Questions I guess, are appreciated. But, shouldn't they be processed before they're put out onto the windows for scrutiny and critique? We're students. We're here to learn. We're not here so much so as to challenge someone who has years of experience. They have the expertise, and have held onto it, far longer than we have.
One should not question why it is, but why should it.