It’s 3.20 am, my most productive time of the day. I am in that period of transition – a matters of hours really, but welcome nonetheless – between wrapping up one job and going full bore into another.
I am now settling into doing some writing and then the fucking power goes. Yes, I do have a laptop but with an average battery life of one hour, I can’t go into any intense writing with any sort of assurance. It’s an old, ugly IBM which has a battery life of about an hour; that’s the equivalent of suffering from premature ejaculation in these times of metrosexual studs like the Vaio which can boast a lasting power of about eight hours.
Anybody who tells me that Guyana is about to turn the corner and shoot into the realm of even decent development is going to get an invitation to, in the immortal words of Eric Cartman, Suck My Balls. And, no, you fucking fags reading this, I didn’t mean that literally. You hot chicks on the other hand, maybe I do, maybe I do…I’m just saying.
But back to my rant. I have to be in the fucking zone to write properly. When it comes to doing the voodoo that I do so well, I am a goddamn primo donno (which I suppose is the male equivalent).
Thankfully, due to my working late, Aidan has opted to spend the night with my parents or else I would have to be up fumbling for matches and a candle before he wakes up to darkness and begins to scream so loud that the neighbours think that I am murdering my child.
And there, before I could wrap this fucking post up, the lights come on again. As a child of the swinging eighties, all this frequent blackout shit and no water coming shit and prices being out of range of the ordinary man shit, it’s like I am living in a fucking flashback.
My friend, with the outrageously luxurious mansion (as opposed to the other run-of-the-mill reasonably luxurious mansions out there) I don’t suppose you have to suffer this shit. It would be interesting to see what a blackout night goes like in your neck of the woods.
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4 comments:
haha - would could realate, we could relate
fu real. and for our friend wid the 'outrageously luxurious mansion', i think that he and minista manyrum does light up each other life( and some dark-holes) yu dig?
you should have worked like all the great masters paper and pen by candle light!
I know the zone.. I've seen the zone.. in the creative business it is strikingly similar... You reach a point where the work (writing or design or whatever just flows out of you with little or sometimes no effort)
Working on a design and the place goes black.. At least you got a laptop - in this fucking god-forsaken country that is considered a luxury in itself...imagine that..
I have one too but oohh skunt, who could do any work when these dino-sized mosquitoes are biting off a chuck of your flesh..
I really miss Thomas Carrol.. If only I had known, I would have paid him to get my visa and run the fuck out of this place a long time ago.
Does anyone know if the current ambassador is following in his footsteps? If only, if only...
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