Sailing for the cookie

One more cookie and I’ll be very very full. You won’t like me when I’m full. I know the toilet doesn’t. This bag of cookies was supposed to make it through the last episode of Game of Thrones. Going by the pressure that layeth upon my stomach lining, I think it will even survive the entire first season of Hollow Crown. 

Yes, I have recently started to nurture a great affinity for ancient epic series (Damnit, I hate words which don’t seem to have a plural form). Trust me the battle scenes are to die for (literally for the actors) but the romance is orgasmic (literally period) Hmmm but what if they shot an African epic. Luanda Magere, the great or Tale of the Miji Kenda. I should probably get into it myself. 

It probably hasn’t come by your knowledge that I am currently writing a TV series. It’s a series about kids. Not the kind I would naturally feel the urge to do but I am doing nonetheless. Let’s just say that I’m trying to lie to myself that I can challenge myself. How is it working so far? Like butter. I got the story for the first episode finished. A couple of scenes have been drafted and that leaves me without about ten more to go.

Why am I doing this? A. Because there’s a big fat cookie at the production studio offices if ever it should be considered revolutionary. B. Because I’ve had it with local productions. They are all shit. There’s no better way to put it. Someone needs to inject the oomph into this industry. 

So back to the sail, shall we?

Cabled in

Escape routes have now multiplied by a hundred fold. I was locked inside the time space continuum of obscene boredom. The ruthless controllers of our energy capsules had awoken me to a drab and dreadful monday morning without power again. Maybe the Wachouwskis were right when they conceptualized the Matrix theory. That we are in a virtual framework in which we only get to see what the machines allow us to see.
Is it but a coincidence that I always sulk into an amorphous state of mild depression each time the lights go out. The matrix might not be a conceivable physical reality but it has most certainly traversed the frontiers of the mind.
We are constantly fed on an electric staple that leaves us dependent on gizmos and technologies that dominate our attention. We have become too good at screen gazing and microwaving. I am somewhat convinced that a virtual plug connects our very eye sockets to our phone screens. And for this reason alone, I wish I could embark on a camp expedition with no electric appliance in hand and expose the nakedness of my social rustiness.

Or maybe I have been watching too much Revolution.