I Do Watch Television

Yes, I do watch television, as the title so boldly presumes. Sometimes I feel like sitting down and pour sulphuric acid on my eyelids and scrabble randomly on the wall with my own radioactive saliva, self-erecting snot and medieval lint that I find somewhere on my body - and call it family entertainment.

But when I don’t feel like that, I turn to the television - the greatest invention since the wheel - and replace my brain with: dumb talkshows, pre-selected news that makes me want to cry at the TV and comic shows that makes me laugh thanks to the stupidity through all the mockery against mankind’s greatest conquests. We can learn nothing on television these days. All my parents could learn from it was that it did not, in fact, contain real life fish and water. Not even documentaries are worth the two hours of sympathy-requiring information that’s fed to us through electrical spoons while we’re wiped in the ass by a one-layered rough toilet paper known to most people as the newspapers.

I’d like to kill my co-workers with a chainsaw to Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons at its highest most fast-paced and hardcore peak, while the adrenaline makes me sweat all kinds of nasty fluids currently being withheld inside my body. I’d like to see blood, my co-worker’s, smeared on walls in the hallrooms where I so furiously stride everyday, to achieve all but nought. It would’ve been a romantic pre-traumatic experience with a blend of self-loathing and self-loving touch to it all. It would be great. It would be the happening of this visionless century.

Explosions are made to be viewed while some great classical composer is played by an orchestra in the background. Popcorn and a drink is considered as a bonus to this magnificent achievement. Pushing the detonation-button, demolishing the building, mans own blood, sweat and tears that was spent when building it, in just a matter of seconds. Dust flowing through the nearest streets, making every kid who inhales it a possible candidate for asthma and other travesties that should’ve been cured already by this time and age. But it’s not, and we’re left to wonder where did it all go wrong - or - when did we stop caring about the evolution of man?

These were my thoughts on Friday morning, when I left my warm and secure fortress of a bed and went off to work. The rain makes me happy, or it intoxicates me with a feeling that competes with sugar-highness. The rain gets alot of tourists, beggars and shallow people off the streets - and it also does a decent cleaning too. You can’t kill the City, but the City can eat your soul while you’re alive, doing what you like doing best - at any given time. Live free, or die hard. I need to take the Shit of the Week now, and the cleaning people should appraise me with a standing applause when I’m done. That’s how a cleaner’s job-description is all about; I give them shit, and they love me for it. It’s called the Awesome Circle of Life as It Should Be.