If you enjoy my writing, please help me defend it from wicked frauds.
Yes, well, I've been keeping busy-busy with my cleaning at home. I try not to be a hypocrite about it, knowing that I can be bit of a slob, myself, at least when my mind is totally immersed in my writing. I also try not to take it too personally when someone leaves the tub in a mess, since they might not be aware of the fact. Above all, I have the correct attitude about cleaning, I think: I regard it as an ongoing struggle. I do not clean with the expectation that it will stay that way, but merely as an ongoing effort to control dirt and disease. They used to say in the chauvinistic past that a man must work from sun to sun but a woman's work (cleaning) is never done. Well, I'll show those women that a man is superior to them in every way, including cleaning. (ha ha) Also, people are usually more careful to avoid leaving a mess behind them when that mess is instantly noticeable, as it is in a clean room.
I'm featuring my vlog above, about my 131 commercials that were all stolen by TV shows like Saturday Night Live, of which something similar may have been shared in 2007 featuring harmony background vocals, mostly in order to say that I don't wish to appear judgemental with this song. After all, I enjoy shopping, too. And when I saw that light-up globe at Indigo, I wanted it for myself - for myself and no one else. Everyone else can have fun trying to pinpoint those small island states with puny page references now. All you get is a localized map and the cryptic name of an unfamiliar area. I've had enough of that. And no more embarrassment for me when I ask my neighbour what African country she comes from and she stumps me with the name of the lesser known, landlocked Burkina Faso. I'm ready for her now, but maybe you'll all have to suffer - if you don't have Google Earth. Anyway, the innocent selfishness of an ordinary consumer like myself was not what I was criticizing in this vlog, but the criminal greed of stars and broadcasters who stole hundreds of my blog posts. I think it's pretty clear, but they will lie about it behind my back to blur my meaning.
I'm reading a kind of Kafka-esque novel by Vladimir Nabokov. The title caught my eye at the library, Invitation to a Beheading. His name was familiar to me from a past reading, but I didn't recall the book at first, Lolita. This is quite different in style, rather surreal. He translated it to English from Russian himself, and did an all right job, though I've noticed that he tends to favour the more esoteric words, perhaps because they are more accurate. The only thing that frustrates me is the suspense that builds and builds as I wait for something concrete to happen. He tortures me with that. Just when it looks like an action is about to be resolved, everything falls apart: a prisoner is about to walk through a door, but it disappears in front of him; a child is about to hand him a note when her hand transforms into a ball of cotton candy and she stuffs her mouth with it; he ascends a staircase all the way to the second last step when the whole building is suddenly swallowed by a giant heron. (These are not from the book, but my own inventions.) I'm at page 100 now and still waiting. He's about to receive a visit from his wife. I wonder what she'll turn into. Still, I like the way he listed an author of his own invention as his greatest influence in the foreword. Kind of helped prepare me for what lay ahead.
The below list of copyright violations is fully linked to my posts to this account from the last nine or ten years.
Oh, just a quick last word to those isolated 'really' jerks: fuck off. Sorry to the rest of you.
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