Friday, April 14, 2006

Alright, so say you have a piece of bologna, or mince meat or some other form of processed meat...well, you're eating it and you're all happy and stuff, right? Great. Ok, now imagine if that meat had a name. NO. Not Hidayah, you moron...but something cool like...Chris or Taufik or maybe even George, depending on how daring you want to be. Well, now you're sitting there staring at George and you realize...this meat suddenly tastes a lot better. But why is that? Could it be your subconscious animal instincts taking over? Could it be that maybe you have a secret loathing for a person named George? Do you even know a Goerge? You'd think so, but you'd be wrong.

We don't really have names. We don't exist. We are only here because we think we are. In fact, how do you know that I'm not a made up character in your physical dream world and in fact all this weird creepy meaty-George talk is buried deep in your subconscious? How do you know what you are eating is actually not human? You don't. Maybe you like it that way. Sick-o.

One more question: Do you know the muffin man? Because, dang, he has got some connections for some pretty good "bologna" if you know what i'm saying. Thank you for your time. But whose time is it really? Does time exist? How do we know? If we don't have it documented in some form... then how do we know it even happened? Or, maybe we only think something happened and it really didn't because we made it up with our vivid imaginations, as vivid and thick as McDonalds Apple Dippers...

...and you thought I was going to talk about apples, next... silly.

(The reason for the entry: I am tired and my eyelids are getting heavier, but HMPH, I DON'T WANT TO SLEEP. RAWWRR.)

Id.nurHIDAYAHhalim.24november89.
goingEIGHTEEN.student.writer.lover.
MUSLIM.malay.insane.wayward.
football.manchesterUNITED.champions.



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