Rant #2: 30 Minutes or Less (soon to be on video!)

Right, you know that ever so fondly irritating fact that nothing’s perfect? You must have heard of it, but like me and many others, wish it didn’t have to exist, right? I mean sure, conflict in it’s basic form is just basic Human interaction, it’s fun and means no harm. But every once ina while an insect begins to breed until the climax when you just decide to write that shit down, and at that point, it engulfs you. This hapenned and the occurence isn’t to be percieved as pretentious, shallow, and petty, but more of a simile for a miniscule drop of blood causing crashing waves of one already a crimson sea.

So there I was, thinking that life should be lived to the extent of the physical controller and the, as Christians call it, “soul”, that’s embodied, when I’m struck by words so narrow and empty. With no passion behind such syllables that meant anything.

Back two minutes! Me and my dad were watching a film, it was good and quite funny. It was about two people who thought up a way to get 10,000 dollars, they kidnap this young man and strap a bomb to him, saying that to stop the bomb from going off in 90 minutes, needed to rob a bank, it’s worth watching but I’ve forgotten it’s name.

When the film finishes my dad tells me it’s bed time; it was half 12. So I knew that it was late and could feel the heavy day dragging my eyelids with it. But as usual with me, things aren’t that simple, often at night, I think of certain things to do, maybe it’s the lack of interruptions that make it so appealing for me; the half hour or so it takes for me to become docile is enough for my thoughts to stray into the creatve part of my mind. As I always do, I give in to these impulses, and do whatever they tell me to, which is usually to write a song as I think of new ideas for them quite often, but this didn’t happen that day. I got upstairs, pondered about but left my door open. My dad’s directly behind me and notices a problem with the stairgate. (we have a stairgate due to the amount of pussy I get, as soon as chicks see me their personality and basic motor skills dissapear adn are replaced with drooling mouths… this truly is a curse) . So as he’s preoccupied wit that, I wait for him to finish as I felt like writing, but I find it hard when someone is within earshot of my squeeky chair and pen scratching. So I plan to wait until he’s in his bedroom to do anything. But he realises this, and tell sme not to sit down and start writing but to go to bed. I counterattack this order by telling him facts about my sleeping pattern, I don’t know, it’s just that with such an ignorant and purposeless order, he may not know what time I wake up every morning, despite my loud alarm clock. So he disputes my counter, and the creative part of me had rested into a coma due to the involuntary detox to the pen, ad I climb my makeshift chair, andclamber into my own involuntary physical coma… That was it, I just thought it was worth mentioning a pointless rule my dad, as well as many other parents, have made up, just to feel superior and powerful. I’m Airan Bloomfield, and this is the end of my video.