Profiling My Little Psychological Nook

You will know a man they say by what you can find in whatever cave or nook he lives in. Nothing much with mine. But let’s humor each other and see if anything my little psychological nook can tell us about me.

Picture 1

1. A LCD clock with foldable leather pen holder given to me by a good Dominican priest back when I was a student at UST. Clock no longer working but still keep it as it reminds me of the good ole days.

2. Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov that I put here to make me appear smarter, better read, and shit.

3. A world map that I’ve been trying to memorize since college but till now I can’t still able to pinpoint where Poland ends and Austria begins, and vice versa.

4. My Compaq Presario laptop which I’ve been using for a year now.

5. A half-filled glass of cheap booze on the rocks to keep the good mood up when inspiration fails, and destroy my liver faster.

6. Henry David Thoreau’s Walden that I use to put the glass on so that the moisture or a spilled brandy won’t ruin my desk. Yes, I love that desk very much. Also I just realize that it's 

Henry David Thoreau’s Walden. Did I just commit a mortal sin?

7. Those are a good mixed of classic and pervert books.

8. That's an ashtray given to me by a brother-in-law to make sure that I die young.

9. Biography of John Dos Passos that I’ve been trying to finish since last year.

10. That’s a pack of Marlboros, genius.

Picture 2

1. A Penshoppe perfume-slash-air freshener, ready to use after a visit of the "ex"-girlfriend or after watching porn.

2. Telephone, which I hated with a passion, as it keeps interrupting me when the "ex"-girlfriend is in the room or when I’m surfing porn.

3. A white-doodle-drawing board that I also use to remind me of how I am accomplishing nothing everyday.

4. Pointed out already in picture 1.

5. That’s Russia there! See, I know “jyugrapi”.

6. Downloaded Electronic-b, or E-book (depending on how stupid one is) of Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer for my regular dose of perversity.

7. Half-full/half-empty glass of cheap brandy.

8. Empty bottles of “likkers”.

9. That’s War and Peace of Leo Tolstoy there. Yeah. Right. Now. Shut. Up.

10. My nth stick of cigarette, so that I'll soon get cancer and die fast and be in Jesus’ embrace for eternity while those fragtards out there rot, burn, or freeze in Dante’s Circles of Hell.

Mr. Beanvatar says, "Chullulzhulz byehh!"

SUICKOCIDE!

Suicide doesn't stop to perplex me, tempting even.

There must be something in it our mothers did not tell us. Now, wait I'm calling my mother. MOTHERRR!

[Enters mother]

Mother, you didn't tell me something I need to know 'bout suicide?

It's nothing but fads from distorted minds, Beauty.

Mother I told you not to call me that.

Oh so sorry Sweet Darling, I'll remember that.

Umm, well, you always say that and yet...Oh, you depressing me more, mother, and I am on this serious occupation about suicide that I am about to share with my other unhappy fellow geeks in the internet. Now go away!

[Exeunt mother]

Anyway. I sense an appealing greatness in suicide than what I was taught mostly by priests to supposedly understand it.

As of now, I regard the suicides as the most enlightened, courageous, highly retarded individuals.

Why can't people kill themselves? Why don’t you? Well maybe someday, I’ll try it and see if it’s fun or the end of it. But there's still that unfinished business awesome things to do like messing up more people's brains, provided they have one, or kicking some more dumb beggars in the streets.

But, why don’t you kill yourself before me? Now these are the foremost of all questions. Without some answers, why should one continue living?

Most people say that those who took suicide are people who are simply hopeless sicko, there's nothing else for them to do, or just mere cowards. Shakespeare wrote that cowards die a thousand deaths while the valiant dies but once. Damn right Shakespeare!

But, who are the cowards [those who fear seeing blood gushing out from their wrists using a nailcutter]? And, who are the valiant [those awesomest pilots made from Japan who added innovation and meaning in aviation]? Now answer me you fucking dead Shakingspeare!

If we choose to live, we are wonderfully taking into our hands the responsibility of a thousand ways to die. And if we choose to die a singular death, it's shunning away nine-hundred ninety-nine other possible deaths. Sounds great, even fun. Oh wait, perhaps I am taking away from its context what Shakespeare meant to say here (I’d love to kick his ass anyway), but can it also be true in this case?

However, is our Guy De Maupassant right when he wrote his story “The Coward”? Quite repugnant story I threw-the-fuck-up.

If people continue living, are they ignorant? Of course, most are. Idiot.

Or people are aware of this and yet continue living as before? Well I know some. Indeed, the herd of full-blown retards I know, those happy-go-lucky bastards living-merrily-for-tomorrow-we-die-spirited-son-of-bitches, yes, the lovely Epicureans.

Or still some people know it and yet, out of weakness, continue living, hoping stubbornly for something… It will not come in your lifetime freaks! Now go away!