Flapping Wildly

DEATH

I met Muxtape far too late in life. While its birth was in March of 08, I got to know of its existence only in May. From when I first found out about Muxtape, I dreamed of how much we could do. But I never really used it. In August of this year, I put up a muxtape. August 13, to be precise. On August 18, the RIAA's pursuit to end free listening caught up with Muxtape, and the site had to be put on hold till its problems were sorted out. There went my muxtape, and my music 'blog' was replaced by a message that spelled out doom for the simple site and its admirable administrators. On September 25, Muxtape, as we know it, died.

This simple website was exactly what we--as music seekers, as people with achingly open ears--needed. Planned to the extent that you knew what you were putting up, and in what order. Random to the extent that hitting the next button on the top right corner of the screen took you to another muxtape in another part of the world and brought you music you might never have heard, sitting in your pixel on the GoogleMap. Simple to the extent that you click to play, click to pause, and click on the 'buy' link to buy, click on the 'share' link to share.

But it's gone. So fuck you RIAA. Fuck you and your rules and your inability to give us the liberty to listen to music online without having to pay an unnecessary price for it.

RESURRECTION

What sort of resurrection? I don't know more than I'm supposed to. I'm supposed to know that, from now on, bands will put up muxtapes. Not us. We will be allowed to listen. For a price? I don't think so, but you never know. I hope not. I'll still visit.

The future has answers. We don't. Let's wait and watch. Meanwhile, there's always Jamendo.

Time Is Running Out

I don't know the meaning of the Muse song that has become my muse for this post. Perhaps I'm not smart enough to figure it out (I'm usually not smart enough for songs I like, or poetry, or books) or perhaps I'm too busy to figure it out. Or maybe I only like figuring Damo's songs out. Or maybe I only truly understand his music, and everyone else's I'm happy liking from far, just from hearing distance.

Truth be told, it doesn't matter. My time is running out.

Yes, I'm just 25. But I'm a single, job-hating 25-year-old.

Let's tackle the job-hating part. Why does that worry me, you ask? Well, think of all the time I waste at this dull office, inhabited recently by a very gaseous person who just happens to sit right next to me and is, for some reason, seemingly unfazed by my looks (an equal mixture of disgust and pure misery) or my clutching at my nose trying to rip the damn thing off. 

(Picture courtesy Nikhil, who should probably be putting his pictures up online.)

Think of all the time I waste doing things I hate, when I could be here, blogging, or outside, looking up at the sky with my eyes shut, so I might not see where the sun is, but know where it is. Or the holidays I might take, were I not required to walk in here on time everyday.

It doesn't matter, you might say. You might also try to convince me that this is part of a learning process. But I'd counter with the argument that I don't have all the time in the world. I have a fixed set of years to do all of the things that I want to do. So why am I sitting here, worrying about money, when I could be doing something that makes me forget all about the green stuff?

I'm single. Yes. I have been for over a year now, and I hate it. It's not the life for me. I don't enjoy the so-called freedom you get. I didn't even crave it when I was in a relationship. I fucked up, yes. It was all me. So this is punishment, right? This finding out everyone I know is in a relationship except me?

The worst part is most of my friends think I'm doing this to myself! Really? So I'm part masochist, you say? Bollocks.

But I haven't met a single girl I'd be interested in. I've met some married ones. Who didn't bother telling me they were married while I was flirting* with them. Oh yea, some of them do that. I can't believe I had to add them on Facebook to find that out. I also can't believe I'm glad Facebook exists.

I don't mind being punished for hurting her. I deserve it, I know. I'm just wondering how much time I'll have with the future Mrs. Void. I wouldn't care if I met the woman of my dreams years later, and both of us were old, if I still got the amount of time I wanted to live with her. I don't want to meet her when I've too little time left on this planet. Hell, the way things are going, none of us know how much time we have left here.

But then, maybe this is all unnecessary.

Hell, maybe I'm wasting too much time worrying.

You think?

*Please note: Just because I'm using the word 'flirting' does not mean I actually know what it means. I've merely been told that my actions at times resemble flirting, but since I was drunk all of those times, I couldn't possibly recreate the actions that were collectively termed, by my soberer friends, as flirting.

Just when I thought I was out...they pull me back in.

I tried to quit my job today. I quit half of it a while back, thought I just had the stuff that I liked to do left. Turns out, what I want has been put on hold, leaving me with no work to do. So what happens? I get guilted into taking up the half I'd left over a month ago. What did I think, seriously? Why am I so damn gullible?

My gullibility is legen...wait for it...dary.

Really.

----

The other day my friend tells me Reese was stabbed.

Thinking of all the Reeses I know, I mention the only name on the list: "Witherspoon?"

"No," she replies, "with a knife."

Gullible, I tell you.

Flashing Fiction & Living Life

I'm trying my hand at flash fiction, and it's god-damned tough.

Tried one contest before, got burned. Trying another one now, will probably get burned for focusing all of my research on my writing and not on the actual piece of fiction.

Meanwhile, I'll probably be posting most of my fiction here.

Life As A Box is my current entry, I'll post the older (read: spurned) one in a bit.

Meanwhile, my arrears in salary have arrived and I'm going to by new shoes with it. I'd feel like a girl if I wasn't wearing ripped shoes right now. New shoes, a pair of jeans (to replace ones which are also currently ripped), some shirts (to replace ones which have holes burned in them, thanks to some drunken smoking) and hopefully an external hard-disk to save my life on (which is mostly stored in office right now, although some of it is floating in cyberspace).

I feel like I've been living with all the bad parts of a hobo's life, and none of the good ones (read: travelling).

For people I meet in the flesh, no, that wasn't a complaint. I merely made an observation.