January 2007 Archives

my original version is happy today.

my original version doesn't whine. i mean he doesn't have anything against it, like he's not uptight or anything, he's just too busy living his life. my original version doesn't write his life, doesn't picture it, doesn't even sing it out loud killerdriving his car or deadscrubbing his back under the shower. he flat out lives it.

my original version has the same dreams as i do, i mean obviously everything that i am and own is because of him, the cloning folks made it clear during my orientation sessions. we share the same fears too, same doubts, we even stutter on the exact same letters in the exact same words. i sound intelligent because he is, i look friendly because he's nice, i come across social and gregarious, only because he sincerely cares about and respects all the people around him.

my original version doesn't lie, he doesn't need to. he doesn't cheat or betray or misbehave, that's all me. the fine prints in the iClone manual that came with me clearly state in size 4 italicized times new roman that some or all of the source specimen's behavioral habits may appear distorted or tarnished in the cloned version. my original version believes in ethics, he recycles, flosses religiously and always folds his laundry right after they're out of the dryer.

my original version thinks love exists. no i take that back; he doesn't think, he believes in it because he's in it. he loves himself. he loves his significant other, and that's why his never left him. he's not bitter. he's not angry. he's completely in peace with the world. he doesn't inflict pain upon himself, much less upon those around him, he's not a wreck, he takes sugar in his coffee, he likes happy endings, he doesn't feel sick when he sees happy couples, he walks, never runs.

my original version is happy today. he faces all the problems that i've got, he's got all the same issues, i mean we're technically the same, it's just that he chooses to be happy. he's so original it's not even funny. he doesn't like emails, he writes. he orders fries with his burger and spreads ketchup on his pizza, he just doesn't care what others would think.

my original version never pretends, not to be sad, not to be lonely, not to be depressed. he sticks to reality, rock solid, firm, steady. he never makes up stories in his head, especially when it comes to himself. he never pretends he's somebody else's clone. he is what he is, and i wish i were him, living a happy life.

heartache is contagious.

once infected, the patient becomes a talking medium for the virus. heartache is wordborne, thus those engaged in frequent conversations with the patient are most susceptible to the disease. the odds of infection grows exponentially with the intimacy level of the conversations, although undocumented laboratory experiments suggest intimacy may not be of crucial importance in the transmission of the virus, it's rather the perception of the recipient speciemen that matters the most.

heartache is incurable.

once infected, the patient experiences unprecedented severe nervous breakdowns entailed by periods of neurotic hysterical happiness. while the intensity of such emotional disorders may normalize in time and the patient would instinctively develop ways to suppress his inner struggles, the consequences have been proven to be of a chronic yet permanent nature. the virus is believed to be resistant to all mental, physical, organic and artificial healing solutions known to mankind to this date.

heartache is fatal.

the virus has been ranked among the top three threats to human race. the 2006 annual report of heartbrokens sans frontier recognizes the disease as the fastest growing epidemic of the twenty first centry and calls for immediate actions to be organized through the leading global societies. as cited in the same literature, heartache indeed transforms itself into a variety superficial evils such as rage, greed, infidelity, theft and homicide. the post-traumatic effects have often urged the victims to excel in other endevours such as physicall fitness or financial independence.

heartache is a mindset.

once infected, the patient grdually devolves into a whining machine. he'd have all the reasons in the world to feel blessed and yet he constantly sings soothening eulogies over his past losses as his way of life. as he spreads the disease amongst his intimate aquaintances through his contaminated hollow words, he finds yet more reasons to despise his own self, his life and his surroundings.

heartache is an excuse.

once infected, the patient conveninetly disclaims all responsibilities for his evil actions. denying his free will in its entirely, he cultivates stronger and meaner demons within himself, making the world pay for all the wrong that's been done to him, in his own self-centric view of course.

heartache is fictitious.

aging is about changing perspectives, retro rather than pro, rational rather than passionate.

he keeps dreaming of what's out of reach, and settles for what's within. he only gets what he dislikes the least, not even close to what he wants the most. he wanted a latte when he joined the line. he wanted to know more when he moved away. he wanted to get rich when he went to school. he wanted a life when he met her first. she left and took his life away. he keeps spending more than he could make. all that he knows now is he knows nothing and he ordered a regular coffee when it was his turn because he didn't like the barista's makeup : she didn't look like she cared much for espresso shots, let alone the required passion for making a strong and smooth latte.

he sips on his coffee, it's bitter, it's good. he thinks of his date, she's pretty, she's good. he thinks of his day, it's boring and it's shitty, it's life. he stares at the wall with the post-it notes. he tears another one and writes : man lives in a world that's within his reach, where dreams are evil and coffee feels real. he reaches for his drawer to grab a new pin, he fails to find one and tosses it away.