Internet forums are a good place to make bitter enemies, as the text flies from behind monitors and keyboards, between people who have no idea of how big or small the person they're arguing with is, and who have a clear opportunity to take their anger out on a complete stranger. Words are misinterpreted, tempers flare, apologies are non-existent, nobody backs down, and there's no pretty girl to step in with a stern look and say: "BOYS! STOP!"
Pussy control is what it's about. Without pussy control, the world would have ended millions of days ago.
I write all this after being inspired by a long rant from a friend who's just been caught up in an online war in which everybody momentarily lost sight of the fact that they were geeks arguing about technology and started to think that they were born to beat people up.
Listen, such shit is the last thing on my mind, even though that's clearly a falsity of some sort, as it's the first thing I've chosen to write about. Was I supposed to write about my three-course calm-down meal instead? The third course was a disappointment: the cheesecake tasted slightly strange and not nearly unhealthy enough. When I eat cheesecake, I expect to throw up.
And when I put a record on, I expect to dance. When I put Lykke Li on, I expect half the room to dance, and the other half to cry. And when I'm reminissin', nissin' you... that's why I'm playing the records in the first place.
When I type, my fingers find the rhythm before they find the keys, and they dance around gracefully, finding the words before my mind even finds them. It's a reflex now. All I have are the memories, and the broken dreams, and I sit here in my room, I'm reminissin' you.
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