“All I need is a little love now and then, but some chocolate will do for now.”
- Lucy Van Pelt -
I think it’s about that time for me to make fun of people again. I miss it.
The best place to start is the jungle they call Online Dating. So I created a fake id for the fun of it and here are a few of my latest emails received. Oh how I love seeing the English language being slaughtered. Sigh!
Bachelor #1: YOU SEEM NICE GET BACK IF YOUR INTERERSTED
A quick glance at his profile reveals that as a career: “I work about 60 hours about in concrete. I am happy with my life”. That’s all he says and the only answer to the typical “About Me” stuff he gave was his salary.
First of all I’d like to know how I seem nice when you’ve never spoken to me. You can’t really judge niceness based on a written profile, especially not one that’s fake and to the point, like mine is. That would be like me telling him that he seems loud. Which he does, what with all the yelling and such.
Also what the hell does “about 60 hours about in concrete” mean? You work close to 60 hours kind of with a material resembling concrete? You work 60 hours a week? A month? A pay-period? A year? A lifetime? Who the hell cares how many hours you work?
NEXT!
Bachelor #2: Do u have msn?
While I’m at it, can I just give you my address? We haven’t exchanged 5 words and you want me to give you my msn? What kind of girl sees this message and thinks: “Gosh he sure did put in a lot of effort to obtain a personal bit of information from me; I should definitely give him a chance.”
So, giving him a chance, I look at his profile and find these tantalizing tidbits:
I am sexxy, energetic, and easy going. I am 31 male 5′9 well built and looking for friends and more. i am adventurious and always lookingto try new things.
Good thing you’re sexxy and not just sexy because I never date guys who are “only one x” sexy.
Moving on!
Bachelor #3: HI! I am nice good looking East Indian guy who is looking for some fun.
If you’re so good-looking why don’t you have a picture up? Also, telling a normal girl you’re looking for some fun = telling a whore you just want to talk. Or something along those lines.
My backwards analogies make sense in my mind. Does yours after reading this post?
Been running a marathon,
on this road called life.
Been running for a while now,
yet there was no end in sight.
An invention got on my way once
saw this satellite device.
Wohoo I could see myself from above
but – hey – look – what the heck!
it’s a Möbius strip I was running on
(Inspired by logic behind the Möbius strip 
)
HOW DOGS AND MEN ARE THE SAME:
1. Both take up too much space on the bed.
2. Both have irrational fears about vacuum cleaning.
3. Both mark their territory.
4. Neither tells you what’s bothering them.
5. The smaller ones tend to be more nervous.
6. Both have an inordinate fascination with women’s crotches.
7. Neither does any dishes.
8. Both fart shamelessly.
9. Neither of them notice when you get your hair cut.
10. Both like dominance games.
11. Both are suspicious of the postman.
12. Neither understands what you see in cats.
HOW DOGS ARE BETTER THAN MEN:
1. Dogs do not have problems expressing affection in public.
2. Dogs miss you when you’re gone.
3. Dogs feel guilty when they’ve done something wrong.
4. Dogs admit when they’re jealous.
5. Dogs are very direct about wanting to go out.
6. Dogs do not play games with you-except fetch (and they never laugh at how you throw.)
7. You can train a dog.
8. Dogs are easy to buy for.
9. The worst social disease you can get from dogs is fleas.
10. Dogs understand what “no” means.
11. Dogs mean it when they kiss you.
Courtesy: www.lifeisajoke.com
Dear Elf,
I did watch the movie today, it is called 21 grams of course, I smiled… I also read and reread the poem that is recited in it, the one by Eugenio Montejo… It goes like this-
The earth turned to bring us closer,
it spun on itself and within us,
and finally joined us together in this dream
as written in the Symposium.
Nights passed by, snowfalls and solstices;
time passed in minutes and millennia.
An ox cart that was on its way to Nineveh arrived in Nebraska
A rooster was singing some distance from the world,
in one of the thousand pre-lives of our fathers.
The earth was spinning with its music
carrying us on board;
it didn’t stop turning a single moment
as if so much love, so much that’s miraculous
was only an adagio written long ago
in the Symposium’s score.
Translated by Peter Boyle
how strange it is? Isn’t it? It took so many co-incidences for us to meet, and so many more for us not to, before. Before, when there was still time. What is co-incidence after all? It is a chance meeting of two events, people; they happen at the same moment and everything changes. So many might have occurred for us to meet, don’t your think so? They say, everyone deserves a second chance… Why can’t I have one more? Sometimes, I think I had mine, and I let it go, I gave it up, long back, when nothing was as it is now.
I want to see you happy; maybe you won’t be happy with me… But, are you happy now? Are you?
Love,
A
I thought of writing this poem for a man I met sometime back who has a terrific nose. I sat and stared at his nose so hard that the rest of him sort of faded away and all that I could recall was that wondrous Greek God like nose.
Met him at a party last week,
A man of manners and sapience deep.
But what struck me most,
About our very cordial host.
Was not his person, rather his nose,
Thus, to ogle at, it was his snout I chose!
What beauty, what an artifact,
Losing all sense of propriety and tact.
I rushed to my Adonis ‘Ian bebe,
Besotted by his wondrous neb.
For this nose boy that I dote,
Are the following lines I wrote-
Thy nose is flawless, like it’s chiseled in teak.
It magnanimity nothing less, than the lofty Himalayan peak!
So sharp and so straight, so very confident of its fate.
Thy nose will make Narcissus weep, for Echo, thine can no longer keep.
Together we shall honour thy nose & make jealous all unfortunate those
Who like me in bitter woes, have been born with a flat platypus nose
But you, my love, my darling rose, shall always be known for thy nose.
You stand alone, in the humid place and enchant yourself. A droplet of sweat runs down your neck… And suddenly the cool breeze combs through your hair… a sweet musky scent it carries… it caresses your face…You are thankful, you are obliged, you are overwhelmed, you are blessed. Although you don’t remember when it came and how it died…
But for the breeze, I know, she traveled many miles… just to touch you and feel you… now she takes along your fragrance; like the bittersweet memory of a long lost lover, wherever she goes… she will be bubbling with glee and happiness of having met you… She tells every new face she meets, that she touched you… and your scent to her bosom she keeps…
She does know, that she’ll soon have to die… but she doesn’t regret; for she holds you close, as she loved you the most… And every time she takes a new form, she’ll come to meet you, as the wind, the rain, the sand, the fire, the ash, the smoke or the froth… She’ll touch you, love you and will bury herself dead and be born again, knowing that her only purpose of life was and is… YOU…
Lenny rode a motor bike
thinking he was zany smart
but when he was hit by Mike
he knew he was just a tart.
When you have your silk
In green and pink
Any colour will do
Except green and pink
daydream through a day
and sleep too is a reverie
because there is no other way
to see dreams through reality.
When people think you are a fool
and know not what gems you hide
should you then as a rule
protest that you are not a fool?
When there is someone to love
one who cares to hold your hand
and guide you through this life
is it only then that life finds its meaning?
Dear Elf,
There is something that I have to tell you since last week. I wish we would have sat by that rivulet and seen the purple dusk but I guess our muddy humdrum lives aren’t allowing us to do so. The sky is thick with smoke and the brook has dried, leaving us all high and low at the same time. But it’s ok; for I know that the sun will again rise tomorrow and have a glorious dusk waiting for us. How optimistic, am I not?
You remember, those tiny bottles hanging in your house? Well, I was thinking about them on Sunday evening while having my staple dinner of wine and prawns. I think they are sort of cute. Remind me to take one of them with me next time when I come to visit you but promise me you will not get mad if I break them and hurt myself deliberately.
Those pebbles that hurt me while I was somersaulting in your poppy fields have left tiny scars over my face. Whenever I smile at myself in the mirror, I see tiny dimples dancing on my rosy cheeks. Thanks for pushing me off the cliff; I wouldn’t look this pretty and attractive otherwise.
That sunlight kissed windows weren’t that bad. All you need to do is just shut your eyes and the rays will cease to enter your soul. I guess, sometimes sunshine does burn your life away.
Ah, I forgot to mention that stairway to heaven. Yes, I agree that it did take me to heaven but I guess not for long because the sunbeams killed the glory in my head and had me burning all over in pain. But don’t you worry anymore, for the pain has ceased to exist in my heart and soul. I am as cold and as white as ever. We can climb those stairs again and probably stare at stars together and not face sunbeams all over.
Those chocolate muffins weren’t that bad either. They were a little burnt though. Tell Sandy who runs your bakery to go easy on the oven temperatures next time. Those cute buttercups can be made a little soft and pleasant. I can go and help him next time you decide to bake some blueberry muffins for your grandma.
Oh, do you remember that blue-eyed boy who crossed me in the elevators? Well, he winked at me before leaving. But I don’t want you to get mad at him and give him a black eye because men like him can not go beyond winking. Next time, be calm and tranquil and do exactly as I say for I might tell you to kill him and not just give him a black eye.
Love,
A
Dear Miko,
I suppose you’ll never get the chance to read this, and maybe I will never get to even tell you that inspite of the slight nature of our acquaintance, you have in some strange way touched my heart. I really do not know what first drew me to you, I suppose I have always been attracted to eccentric people and you have been just that, the little that we know of you. I liked that you love to walk, that you are tall and lanky, and a little weird, quiet and withdrawn, maybe shy, and so very proper and polite. You inspired me to read a little more, work a little harder on my English; listen to that extra bit of music, love my Ipod even more, read up a little more on the sixties and the seventies and so on. I loved that you made me listen to Harry Belafonte, Miles and told me about the bands, Bread and Cream. I love The Bread, by the way.
Life on a trip revolves around some very simple things for me. I wish I could tear you away from the humdrum of class, professors and friends and take you to Marine Drive once again to watch the sun set a few more times. I have always thought it a miracle that the sun would set the same time for ever and ever. I want to steal a little bit of that beauty and keep it in my heart. It is like tearing a small piece of bread from a loaf when you are hungry, there maybe many more loaves but this one particular one would always have that one bite off it. I suppose I make little sense.
I had this dream the other night, where we sat side by side facing an “electric blue” river and what seemed like the ruins of Guatemala, and certain specimens of big horned deer who miraculously changed to people right before my eyes. When this happened you just put your arm around my waist and pulled me close and kissed me gently on my cheek and softly said: what a dangerous t-shirt… ! (referring to the people I thought were deer but were actually dressed in some sort of costume possibly) All this was very nice and I felt extraordinarily close to you. For a long time after I woke I shut my mind to the clutter of the outside world and hugged onto my dream like a precious secret till slowly its sensuality began to wane.
I don’t know what this year holds for me, but of all the things that I dearly wish for, I would certainly like to wish to get to know you a little better, spend some more time with you and maybe, even get a chance to call you this – “Miko”.
Love,
A
It’s exasperating to think how well I remember you, every miniscule detail – it seems to me that the essence of your being is etched into my mind with golden liquid paint. Your memory continues to sink in deeper and deeper so that one day all that my life shall be, would be an extension of this memory.
Nothing is so permanent as this, no change in this, only I continue to get molded more and more into different shapes, but my void remains but a void.
Everything that remains incomplete has a much stronger memory than those that we aspire and achieve. The broken edges jab at my heart every now and then and I long to reach out and touch something that will sooth the pain. Our lives are but reflections of the cosmos that envelopes us, it is rich with the things we touch, the hearts we love, the tastes we swallow and the rivers that we go floating down. Every life is but a fleeting moment in the endless continuum of time and space, each likened to the other, linked by a thread that is only too bare but unbreakable.
But it is not to despair, for although a meaningless life as this is, there are joys too. We look for happiness in every little crevice of this universe, standing tall as we do, each one is a manifestation of the untold truth, as the centre of the universe…at the centre of the universe; we are all the essentials of our own little world. For man, and indeed all animals, life begins from the core, our egos – the self. For it is in all our similarities and differences that constitute each self, every one of us is a strategist in the world’s warfare. In being who we are we are constantly changing, moulding re-moulding ourselves in accordance with the ideals that constitute ourselves. And it is in this Herculean change that we find the constancy that we crave for. What an odd little world.
I digressed.
The moment is lost; you are lost in the depth of my memory. I cannot close my eyes and feel any longer the wet kiss on my nose. Will my memories fade? Will another one overshadow this memory? If all our memories happen only to be written over then what is the meaning of our experiences. The present is so fleeting and yet man gives up his all just for a moment of ecstasy… a single moment of the emotion that he craves for. The tears that I shed have no meaning any longer, for that was in the past, and my present will not form a memory, as vivid as it is in passing, in the future. But a lingering fragrance must remain and I guess it shall remain… Our lives are like traces of a perfume that we had put on once, our memories are its fragrance, at its best when it has begun to fade, but a whiff returns to us its former glory filling our senses with fulfillment of remembrance…
Dear Homeless Man,
I hope your tap-dancing lessons are going well! I found out today that you have a twin brother, who looks exactly like you. Does he have the same Nike Shoes as you? If so, I think I may always think you are the same person. Sorry for the confusion, no wonder you looked at me like I was the crazy one when I asked you if you ever got a new oar.
I saw you and your brother fighting today. It saddened me deeply – families are the most important people in your life. Perhaps you were fighting over a female? Trust me, that bong woman who yells at people on patios and tries to grab their food is not worth a family feud.
Sure, if she stopped doing the crack and brushed her hair a little she could be pretty. If she ate something she could even be quite lovely but I’m sure there are more ladies for you two to deal with? I thought I’d let you know that that new wave you are doing with your hair? Very Donald-Trumpesque! Dress for success they say!
Kudo! 
Alice
It’s more of a brawl with me and the world around. People have come and gone but my idiosyncratic beliefs have always stayed back. With the emergence of my new mental capabilities and observational skills, somewhere life is back to square one. It doesn’t feel good… it doesn’t feel bad… it simply feels anesthetized. Have met quite a lot of people whose claim to fame has been understanding the nuances of my brain… people keep saying they know me and ‘understand’ me but somewhere they are oh so wrong… its nothing to do with the way I am or the way they are… somewhere I feel there is a gaping discrepancy between thoughts and perceptions… I don’t hate them… I don’t love them… I simply pity them… somewhere I hate sitting on the pedestal with the pink champagne twinkling in my crystal goblet… sometimes I wish I was someone they could relate to… probably someone easier to understand… probably someone who could be like them… as time flies away from my glass window, I sit back and laugh at the world around… not because of self righteousness but out of world misery… my penchant for the unusual and the extraordinary fail to arouse me from my gloom as the day somewhere has nothing to hold… the bourgeoisies taper my soul and cling to the fringes of my existence… no matter how hard I try, the feeling of helpless does not evaporate… no matter how much I beg, these iconoclasts refuse to leave the race of life… the hovering continues like an infuriating honeybee… the droning spirals in my ears and seeps into my heart… I wake up from my reverie to find the nauseating drink splattered on my muslin gown… the crystal mingling with my blood and the pain knowing no bounds… I sigh in despondency… throw my head back, not in pain or despair… but out of my sheer will to survive this grotesque world… where there are irate wolves and jackals under a human’s hide… where there are poisonous butterflies who pretend to be breathtakingly beautiful… where the world is nothing but a black coliseum… and look up at the sky to find my guiding light… the light that is the rationale behind my survival… and I see you… smiling… mocking… cajoling… my soul… and I chant my swansong to you till I wait for my forty winks to envelop me forever…
It can only get better” they say tritely
“Next year will be different”
“Things have to start looking up for you”
Every year I go through these bouts. These periods where my mind can’t stop thinking negatively. I want to curl in a ball on my couch and never leave the house. I don’t eat all day or I eat everything I can grab. I feel like crying but my eyes are selfish and hold the tears to themselves.
I wear pajamas from the moment I walk in the door and find excuses not to answer my phone. I watch TV but don’t really see anything. I can’t sleep so I try reading, I try sleeping pills, I try a bath. I try tea, I try writing, I try lying in bed thinking of nothing and everything. I try imagining somewhere hot, and listening to waves on a beach.
I am awake but my mind is confused. How did I end up here? Like this? Lonely, sad, unable to express myself and not understanding what it is that has brought me down so low. Some nights I might go have a drink at my very own Cheers with friends but this is a temporary distraction.
I wander around the museum for hours, wishing I could disappear into the paintings, into the sculptures and be a part of history instead of making my own. I wander around the library even longer – until the librarian announces the imminent closing – picking up books and flipping through the pages.
I read comedic memoirs which remind me all too well how mine would suffer in comparison. I read serious books about war and crimes against humanity. They say misery loves company. I read books about love, about pain, about reality. Sometimes I read a book so densely and intricately worded I have to reread paragraphs three times just to understand what is happening. These are my favorite of all; they take up the most time.
Once the cold goes away, once the grass returns, once the sun again has the starring role and not just a cameo, I’ll be okay. But for now, for now I’ll sit waiting.
to the man I will never know,
or the woman that will never be,
I’m sorry for all the times you weren’t sick,
and I’m sorry for the times you never needed me.
I’m sorry for all the joys of life,
you never got to feel.
I’m sorry for all the childhood dreams,
that never will become real.
I sit and wonder of what you are like,
as a man or a woman that may have been.
It seems strange to have this face full of tears,
over someone I have never seen.
but I can feel you are there, you are part of me,
and your safe in your mothers womb.
Your growing each day as does my love for you,
but the safety you feel will end soon.
if this decision was up to me to decide,
then the adult in you I will know.
I would cherish the memories of your younger years,
and watch from a child as you grow.
but never will I hold you secure in my arms,
and wipe all the tears from your eyes.
or see your first steps and the words that you say,
or feel the pain of your cries.
your mother’s not strong in her mind and her heart,
so I hope you’ll forgive what she’ll do.
the doctors will soon end this life that you know,
and a big part of me will die too.
I saw his handsome silhouette walking down the muddy road…
His sexy back facing towards my humble abode…
For a second I thought he would turn and acknowledge my presence…
But he walked and walked till I started feeling his absence…
Something in my heart said that he knew I was watching him…
But he didn’t turn and my tears came up to the brim…
As he deliberately didn’t see and give me that one last look…
My heavens split apart and my earth started to shook…
Call it his ego or the deep dark voice of his soul…
None listened to my silent screams as they went untold…
I wept on that lonely street and swore to the heavens above…
That I will never take his name again and took my last vow…
Those flashes of his smile kept haunting my night…
All I wanted was to hold him without a fright…
Those eyes that bore into me and showed me the spiral staircase of his life…
In them I saw my stars and hoped that he would ask me to be his wife…
But the dirty destiny had other plans in store…
And I wept and begged for him to stay back for some more…
Life is a bitch and now I surely know why…
For it took away my grass and left me to die…
Today the holes in my eyes are a mirror to my life…
And here I weep and end it with his jaded knife…
Ah...a dream...!
Hope inspired me to write this post and I am grateful to her for reminding me about my uselessness. Well this is that much awaited post… today I have realized that I am discovering things that were hidden away in the closet of my brain since quite sometime…. like Ayn Rand, Shakespeare and now it has to be alcohol….
Well I am not the typical girly vodka drinker… infact I love whiskey, beer and wine the most… and I would do anything to have a sip of my favourite wine right now… grrr… call it boredom at work…! Phew!
Well here it goes….
• Whenever I am drinking with Cupid and my other friends, I tend to start laughing without any rhyme or reason and in no time I am rolling on the floor (literally..!)
• I tend to go online and I try to find my elf name and then keep rolling in laughter all the more
• I pretend to cook and my friends pretend to eat what I have cooked!
• I start counting the stars
• I run around in circles and behave I am running in Olympics
• I start writing some random ad campaign and start pretending that I am the next Leo Burnett or Ogilvy in making (I wish…!)
• I start drinking more water and then like everyone else, I keep going to the loo without any rhyme or reason… once I was found sleeping in the loo… actually I wasn’t sleeping… I had just passed out… thanks to those excess whiskey rampages that I went on…
• Once I had started singing on the top of my voice and in no time the donkeys were also braying along with me….!
• I started giving advices on people’s careers and start having heated debates on various topics of economics, law, current affairs and metaphysics… in short I make a complete ass of myself as I was nothing but the butt of every joke…
• I suddenly start adoring someone around me….I start uttering lines from various Shakespearean sonnets, pluck wild flowers and pull that person to dance with me around the trees (sometimes I think I have just tore the screen and come from some rundown Hollywood flick…!) all in all, I embarrass whoever the girl (!) or the guy is…
• I feel like swimming and I make a huge ruckus if I don’t get a chance to swim…! My friends actually run helter-skelter whenever I get those bouts of swimming…
• I pretend that I am not drunk and force people to give me more alcohol… and then fall flat on my face when I am unable to take more of it…
• I start to dance… (How could I forget that!!!?) And people around me get the heebie-jeebies as I tend to start dancing around them and force them to dance as well… I threaten to kill myself if they don’t dance with me….err… and at the end, we are a bunch of idiots who are dancing the night away…!
• If I happen to like a song during those liquid moments (!) then the song HAS to be played on loop till I don’t pass out… to cut a long story short I end up boring people and make them feel useless about their existence…!
But but but… I am always the heart of the party… for I surely know how to entertain my fellow mad-hatters with my randomly nonsensical antics… 
One of my favourite lines of Shakespeare.*sigh!
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs,
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes,
Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers’ tears.
What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
Words fail me right now….I just realized that I have not written a single post on Ayn Rand… a person who represents whatever I am and whatever I believe in… sheeesh…!!!
Let me start off with this speech with Howard Roark made in Fountainhead. Its been ages since I have read this book but this speech still gives me goosies all over whenever I think of it… such power and such enigma should never surface from the book and come to me in real life…for I know that I will leave everything….ruin my existence and go after the man who represents Howard Roark… its impossible but its true….go read Fountainhead…its a must for everyone who believe in individualism and free existence….
Thousands of years ago, the first man discovered how to make fire. He was probably burned at the stake he had taught his brothers to light, but he left them a gift they had not conceived, and he lifted darkness off the earth.
Throughout the centuries, there were men who took first steps down new roads, armed with nothing but their own vision. The great creators — the thinkers, the artists, the scientists, the inventors — stood alone against the men of their time. Every new thought was opposed; every new invention was denounced. But the men of unborrowed vision went ahead. They fought, they suffered, and they paid. But they won.
No creator was prompted by a desire to please his brothers. His brothers hated the gift he offered.
His truth was his only motive.
His work was his only goal.
His work — not those who used it.
His creation — not the benefits others derived from it — the creation which gave form to his truth.
He held his truth above all things and against all men. He went ahead whether others agreed with him or not, with his integrity as his only banner. He served nothing and no one. He lived for himself. And only by living for himself was he able to achieve the things which are the glory of mankind. Such is the nature of achievement. Man cannot survive except through his mind. He comes on earth unarmed. His brain is his only weapon. But the mind is an attribute of the individual. There is no such thing as a collective brain. The man who thinks must think and act on his own. The reasoning mind cannot work under any form of compulsion. It cannot be subordinated to the needs, opinions, or wishes of others. It is not an object of sacrifice.
The creator stands on his own judgment; the parasite follows the opinions of others.
The creator thinks; the parasite copies.
The creator produces; the parasite loots.
The creator’s concern is the conquest of nature; the parasite’s concern is the conquest of men.
The creator requires independence. He neither serves nor rules. He deals with men by free exchange and voluntary choice.
The parasite seeks power. He wants to bind all men together in common action and common slavery. He claims that man is only a tool for the use of others — that he must think as they think, act as they act, and live in selfless, joyless servitude to any need but his own.
Look at history: Everything we have, every great achievement has come from the independent work of some independent mind. Every horror and destruction came from attempts to force men into a herd of brainless, soulless robots — without personal rights, without person ambition, without will, hope, or dignity.
It is an ancient conflict. It has another name: “The individual against the collective.”
Our country, the noblest country in the history of men, was based on the principle of individualism, the principle of man’s “inalienable rights.” It was a country where a man was free to seek his own happiness, to gain and produce, not to give up and renounce; to prosper, not to starve; to achieve, not to plunder; to hold as his highest possession a sense of his personal value, and as his highest virtue his self-respect.
Look at the results. That is what the collectivists are now asking you to destroy, as much of the earth has been destroyed.
I am an architect. I know what is to come by the principle on which it is built. We are approaching a world in which I cannot permit myself to live. My ideas are my property. They were taken from me by force, by breach of contract. No appeal was left to me.
It was believed that my work belonged to others, to do with as they pleased. They had a claim upon me without my consent — that it was my duty to serve them without choice or reward.
Now you know why a dynamited Courtland. I designed Courtland. I made it possible. I destroyed it. I agreed to design it for the purpose of it seeing built as I wished. That was the price I set for my work. I was not paid. My building was disfigured at the whim of others who took all the benefits of my work and gave me nothing in return.
I came here to say that I do not recognize anyone’s right to one minute of my life, nor to any part of my energy, nor to any achievement of mine — no matter who makes the claim!
It had to be said: The world is perishing from an orgy of self-sacrificing. I came here to be heard in the name of every man of independence still left in the world. I wanted to state my terms. I do not care to work or live on any others.
My terms are: A man’s RIGHT to exist for his own sake.
