[Toot!] Index: 0.0
Communism Bit: On
Location: Job, of course
Okay. I'm going to give y'all a chance to peek into my crib. My little prison. If it ever seems too well-appointed for a revolutionary's place, you are seeing it wrong. It's just a Maoist soldier's tent.
By the way, these pictures were meant for my Ma, but I'm giving y'all some of this (the ones that aren't too personal, which is just a few).
Nobody has ever seen the insides of my place. You're the first. Nobody even knows where I stay. I'm ducking the 'Mericans like that. :o) We go.
That's the computer, that's my desk. That's like the heart of my crib. Everything is referred to with that seat as the axis. What you see there is my humble, old Apple iMac G3 where I seat and hack. Sometimes I write my blog posts there. It's like some kind of profane altar. From the way it slid, you'll conclude (correctly) that good photographs aren't a pre-requisite I've ever faced.
That coffee mug. Ah, the stories it would tell! The names I've cried into it! The tears it has collected and then served up! That mug, I'd hold a sombre funeral if it broke. It even has a name. Also, notice the film of beige on the wall lip. Speaks of desolation-by-laziness. :o)
That's Space, the cat. And that pose, I don't know who suggested it.
More Space. Notice her gold-leaning, calico-leaning patterns. She's quite a cute cat, that one.
And the Mac again. Don't look at the sides. Concentrate on the center. You're feeling sleepy ... There is a novel above the computer. Two, actually. The pictures are a tad dark, yes. I took them at night, under my shy lighting. I code and read and write a lot on that machine. Main programming languages (taking the excuse of a geeky picture, you see): Haskell, SML, and Ruby in an order I find difficult to explain.
Then this. I thought it was a little too personal, but I just let it out so you see how I repeatedly lose the war on trash and dirty clothes. (I cropped it a bit.) There, the dirty heap has executed a successful coup, an inside job, an overthrow. The dirty heap is above, not down. And you can see how alarmingly-bare my place is. I will be rich, some day. :o) Actually, I just love to have little shit. There's a weird freedom about it; can't explain it. I hope I stay like that, for that is the Right Thing to do. The trash at the bottom, it had been two weeks old.
Food! From right to left, naturally. Buns. Hard, cold buns. I'd even have them unleavened, if I could. Last-resort food. Watch my military-green lighter! Yay! If you thought I was faking the whole soldier thing, there is also the military-green `standard army issue' cigarette. One lone, Sweet Mao cigarette that I got from some girls last month. Sweet Menthol, whatever.
Do you see the sugar cane? Guerilla food. I think the pics are just way too dark. Then the banana. I didn't like this particular batch, by the way. It doesn't feel like bananas should, you know. It just slides down my throat apathetically, not hugging my throat in a romantic one-last-time snog-hug, you know. Something is happening to my country's bananas, and nobody else seems to care. :o( Eggs—hard-boiled eggs—to the left of that. It's just stand-by stuff, you know. Throw it in and sleep. Then, lastly, the American Conspiracy To Poison The Whole World And Render It Barren By Obesity And Toothless-Inattractiveness, aka. Coca-Cola. I know, I shouldn't do this, but ... I have no fridge. The fizz adds drinkability. That's the last time, alright. Wish they had Sprite down there, which is safer, because it was invented in Uganda and stolen by Them. These things have to be close to the computer so that I can sate any hunger pangs without moving. :o)
My keyboard. First, it was a Belgian layout. Then I turned it to Dvorak layout. Can you type on that? But I tell you it feels so nice when you type lots. It's more-comfortable than QWERTY. (QWERTY was made to slow typists down, so that the keys in them older typewriters don't get stuck.) It takes a bit of getting-used-to, but it's worth it. I removed the left SHIFT key because it was tempting to hit, but my finger was getting hurt (I use the SHIFT a lot in programming and prose).
Gadgets! UTL phone, MTN phone (Kabiriiti), MP3 player, ivory lighter (okay, not ivory, but that's between the two of us), and my Sony CLIÉ. And the Macintosh, alright. Dante is laughing. Dante. Dante. Dante! :o( Don't laugh at your friends' misfortunes. One day, I'll be rich enough to buy a million iPhones and I'll play with them alone and not let anybody bisturb me.
And when I've been hacking for six hours straight, Space will figure I'm a dead tree stump that happens to have a bit of warmth ... and sleep there. For hours.
And, on occassion, I do offer lessons at a reduced fee for all members of the Gallant Revolution who show enough enthusiasm. (I took that one a longer time ago.)
This one felt a bit too personal, but I let it out anyway. I do get out on a limb. That's Space, again. The serenity is infectious, sometimes. You find yourself calmer by just letting the little thing's calmness waft over to you. It's much help when I'm depressed.
Okay. That's it. You can start laughing, now that I'm gone. That's a few spots of The Pad That No Other Humans Ever Inhabit, The 27th Comrade's domain.