A written form

You ever wonder why people write all these unimportant shit that practically no one (I did say practically no one) ever cares enough to read, and even if they care enough to read they never care enough to care about what they cared enough to read.

If you go to a bookstore (try picturing the Stockman Bookstore in Helsinki... nice three floor bookstore, tells u how much people in that little forgotten ((not by me, but by the world)) city enjoys reading... I have reasons to believe the bookstore is nearly the size of the department store), and just check out the numbers of unimportant crap starting from the top of the A row, straight to the end of the Z row in some weird section, of some word we can't pronounce... (I should double check that), you start wondeirng about the mental state of the world. As if... for some forgotten reason (my memories are failing me greatly these days), shit and crap have officially became "knowledge"" and knowledge of officially became a myth, I quite wonder at the proximity I am willing to attend to in this crazy "pound through this shit we call life". I'm not pounding it, I'm actually pursuing it.

I wonder why people all write these unimportrant shit that practically no one (and I really mean practically) ever cares enough to read, and even if they cared enough to read, they never cared enough to care about what they cared enough to read because by now everyone knows all these written forms they are reading are just piece of shit people are pursuing after, which are formed from the pieces of crap they are pursuing after (following me?).

I do.

Cuz, even as I write these pieces of shit and wonder with marvel at the amount of shit I can produce daily from the pieces of craps I digest morning to night, and then discover myself sleeping late at night, getting sick and old because of too much consumptino of crap and shit, and then finding myself depressed because of this intoxicating consumption, somehow I am ceased with the weird notion/idea/prophecy/for God's sakes, whatever God may say, that my whole life must be dedicated to the continuous production (and i do mean continuous) of crap and shit.

Funny how when I was little a elderly lady (always an elderly lady in these fairy tales) told me in her little cottage somewhere within the elementary courtyard (cottage in courtyards... I told you they were crap and shit) that I was, defying all possibilities (with me sucking my thumbs), to be a mover/rocker (not literal) of the world. That, the rest of the world, they keep the world moving, but the few like me, people filled with so much crap and shit that they can live three to four life-times with it... we were the ones to change the world!

Maybe that's it. My mission in life is to provide the people who keeps the world moving with enough crap and shit so that they never are in need of it, and are satisfied enough to continue there moving and hence makes me, in some weird logic, a mover of the world.

Well, it's good we got that straight.