Sssh baby, this whole figuring me out thing, it has to stop. Really. You cannot understand what you do not know. Instead, I beseech you, to simply surrender yourself to my very mysterious ways. Go on. “Whys” are for electrical engineers. We, however, are children of night. You must embrace my very mysterious ways in your warm bosom and treasure every iota of my mystery.
Some days I cry to the sad refrains of an indie ballad, other days I rhyme about my bitches and wheels. Do not attempt to reconcile the two. I do not wish you to tire yourself so foolishly. You must accept the fact that there are occasions when I will partake on a plate of tender veal, with a side of sweet port. And there are times when I will nurse a crippled, motherless fledgling to a soaring sparrow. Do not question my motivations. They will forever remain, a mystery.
So if I say I am going to call but I do not. That is not a sign of weakness or a fear of commitment. Nor out of sheer laziness on my part. Maybe, instead of asking why I never called, ask why I said I was going to call.
***
There’re talks of podcasting in the pipeline. The thought’s most appealing, I’m getting flashbacks of Christian Slater in Pump Up The Volume. Though three months into my new job has left me little time for little else. And that’s not likely to change. Guess I’ll stick with the one song per fortnight format.
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