And now, gentle reader, here is another of my pieces of writing from long, long ago. This one I wrote one morning oh, probably four years ago, because I remembered what fun it used to be to write when I was smaller. I think it has some of the absurdist humour that I took a little too far back then, but Ode To Lost Hope it is not. For one, it includes my favourite opening line (among the works I've written, of course). Some things are lost on me though - "the proverbial square he lived in"? Sounds odd. But anyway, this is the reason I'm keeping this blog! Looking over this writing takes me back to a different time and place altogether. It's as though reality and time are inseparable; that the past is like a different life altogether. Is that what the Beatles meant in "In My Life"? I dunno, but it's interesting nonetheless.

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Doesn't it always begin with the rain? It poured onto the streets, its elegant, constant motion cleansing the stagnant filth that sat unchallenged among indifference and lethargy. Yet, all of this was not noticed by James, a man too caught up in his own world, neither willing nor caring to look outside the proverbial square he lived in.

Not that I blame him - I don't think I would comment on the apparent beauty of nature if my dog had ruined my life.

See, James' dog is no ordinary dog - he is one smart canine. Too smart - in fact, one might say in some ways he was the owner. But that's irrelevant.

It all started one day in my house. He and I are moderate acquaintances, by the way. Anyway, he came over while I was watching TV, and he very excitedly said to me, "I'm going to be rich!". He obviously couldn't see that I was totally uninterested. It was like I was caught in a separate dimension whenever I sat there, lifeless to the casual observer.

But something, and I now wish it didn't, compelled me to ask "How?". That was the word he was waiting for. That simple monosyllable somehow implied that I had actual interest in what he was saying, though in truth, I couldn't care less if he was going to use his dog to help him win a gameshow.

"I'm going to use my dog to help me win a gameshow!", he said.

"Ah," I said. I guess I should've seen that coming.

Inspired by my effort to sound interested, he elaborated - "See, I've been training him myself, and both of us have been practising hard. Now he and I work like a perfect team!".

I always draw a line to my fake interest. My brain refused to make me ask him how he trained his dog. Ah well.

But I suppose James had already gained enough momentum, and he wasn't fazed by my lifeless gazing at those alternating pixels. He talked about how he was selected for the gameshow that called itself Magnum, and how the prize was $100, 000.

I like to think of myself as a reasonable person, but when a gameshow calls itself Magnum, my mind screams out in pain, as if I were shot in the head by its repulsive lack of meaning.

But that internal horror came out as a mild "Magnum?". "Yeah," James replied, "it's a new show. The host has a cat".

Intriguing.

I can't remember when he left that day. I can't even remember what day that was. It's just stuck in my mind as "That day". As is every other day. I don't know how long this curious ailment has afflicted me. Since that day, I guess.

Coming back to the point, we met again the next day. This strikes me as odd, me meeting a moderate acquaintance who sees it fit to enter my house without notice two days in a row. Just luck I suppose.

He proceeded to invite me Magnum, as I was "so supportive" the day before. It figures.

Naturally, I said I would definitely be in Magnum, but the trick was not to be seen in Magnum. So there I was, in the studio of Magnum. Among people who were excited. Excited. Excited to be in a place where there were people who would be made to show their intelligence to some guy who has a cat. And seeing how James thought that Afghanistan was a novelty store, I wasn't expecting the other contestants to be any brighter.

Apparently, cats make you talk. Unintelligibly. The host spoke like his tongue was a speeding car racing away from the police. James was quite lucky to survive the first question about the unit of power. I'll admit, I was curious to see James' dog in action. Perhaps it was a rather childish curiosity, but nonetheless it was there.

For someone of James' intellect, the plan was brilliant - his dog would look at the answer marked "Correct" (which was in green), and bark out its number - if the answer was number two, he would bark twice.

And it worked. Flawlessly. Question after question James' dog barked, and James got it right. On the last question, James was confident. I would've been. The question came - how many corporations have gained a million dollars within a week?

James' dog barked twice.

"Two!!", James almost screamed.

"Number two, or two?", asked the host.

"Umm, I, uh..."

The timer buzzed. Game over.

The consolation prize was a colour TV. So it was a success, right?

Well, not really. See...

James is blind.

The rain poured more and more.

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Yes, I seemed to be obsessed with one-liners and sudden paragraph breaks, but it was fun darn it! I surprise myself sometimes, actually. Subtle stuff like "James was quite lucky to survive the first question about the unit of power", I didn't know I was capable of stuff like that back then; far too subtle from what I remember of the young me! Perhaps I was better than I give myself credit for? Then again, considering what my life is like now, I must've screwed up pretty bad back then.

Oh, and the ending is a bit cooky, yes, and in fact I submitted this for an english task in school, and the teacher wondered whether I was making fun of blind people! Heh it takes all kinds. I don't know, it just came to me in the instant I was writing the thing - I would call it inspiration, but that's usually associated with something that's good.

Ah, speaking of inspiration, I feel inspired to start writing. About something, anything. Actually, flicking back through the pages of my life (by which I mean the pages of this blog), I remember thinking about this a while back. Heh I would never have imagined back then that I'd still be blogging today. But anyway, perhaps I should start the book (that's meant to be accompanied by ominous sounding music, by the way). I remember making a list of what the book would deal with. Life? Love? (Can't have one without the other, eh?) Death? Failure? A bit of everything? Gosh darn it I am so inspired, it's invigorating. I wish...I wish I could actually convert these feelings into something concrete. Far too often I let them diffuse away into the sands of time, but now, darn it, now I really have to pursue this with all my heart.

'Sall from me folks.