Chastity. It’s fucking CHASTITY. Also, Bowel Movements.

Ok, so generally, I am trying to be a little more regular – No, I’m not talking about my bowel movements, they’re fine thank you, and no, I’m not talking about frequency. What is it with people using regularity in place of frequency anyway? If we’re not careful here trendsetters, we’re going to permanently change the meaning of a word that was just fucking fine to begin with.

Don’t believe me? Just look at celibacy. All you fuckers use it to mean the abstinence from sex. And it’s true, if you look it up in the dictionary – even a reputable one, you know, like the fucking Oxford – it will confirm it. Which is completely ridiculous. Celibate used to mean unmarried. If you wanted to keep your pink parts in your pants, you were fucking chaste, not celibate. They’re not called bloody celibacy belts are they? Anyway, what the fuck was wrong with that arrangement? Two distinct words, two distinct meanings. Why do we now need those two words to mean the same thing, and have to use unmarried to mean unmarried? Fuck’s sake… no pun intended.

So, I’m talking about doing things (this blog thing specifically), more regularly… as in, at regular, probably equidistant, intervals. Like once a week. No less, no more. Really, no more. I have other shit to do you know; more important shit; like what I should be doing now; writing fiction. But I’m having a bit of a crap day, an Edinburgh day. Which is not to say that Edinburgh is crap, but that I’d really rather be there than here right now. I should probably stop writing stories about the place, I’m fucking bad enough with nostalgia at it is.

It is grey and dismal outside today. Unfortunately, being Perth, it’s also fuck-off hot, not that romantic European/Melbourne/Edinburgh kind of grey and dismal. Not even that stormy, wind-swept-ocean Sydney kind of grey. It’s just fucking uncomfortable. So instead of using my time productively, I just want to have a whinge. It’s no good having a whinge to the people at work – they’re public servants, they won’t understand the emo-nostalgic-poet frame of mind. And it’s no good having a private little whinge, I don’t want to fucking hear it. I’ve heard it all before. Quite frankly, I’m fucking sick to death of hearing it. I’d much rather subject you lot to it.

In fact… just saying that makes me feel better. I have been trying to up my blogging game a bit recently; actually get off my self-indulgent pedestal and write about something interesting, or vaguely interesting, or at least write about it in a borderline amusing fashion, even if the depth of my insight, analysis, or excitement is about that of a parking lot puddle. But the thought that you’ve just sat through several paragraphs of drivel, waiting for the pay-off you were sure was coming, only to find this horseshit… well… I feel remarkably better. Thanks.

Now, fuck off, I have things to write.

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~ by Gethin A. Lynes on February 2nd, 2012.

One Response to “Chastity. It’s fucking CHASTITY. Also, Bowel Movements.”

  1. Crap weather sucks. And hot grey days are amongst my least favourite as well. Unless there’s an element of pre-apocolypse about them.

    As with the old switcheroo on the meaning of celibacy. Now I could easily be wrong here, but maybe it had something to do with the changine meaning and place of marriage in society. Still, totally down with you on the whole why change a word that working fine trip.

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