Desmond and the Winged-Banshee.

I spent the first few moments of my morning arguing with what bird-enthusiasts call 'sparrows'. Me? - I think they're more canine than bird. Or a cross of both. (Read: Winged-Banshee.)

After a sleepless night, I woke up to find many screeching sparrows outside my window. And in my half-asleep state, I threw my pillow at the window. (I never throw my pillow at anything. Or at least, "never did before".)

But these were persistent banshee-birds, and they just kept coming back, bringing friends like it was Bring Your Sparrow-friend to Desmond's Window Day. And clearly, this day does not exist, so I started arguing with them - all the while, still groggy and half-awake, and mostly oblivious to the people staring from the neighbouring block.

Then, in what must have been the height of my bird-induced irritation, I made a gesture. And if you'd be one of em' Bird-enthusiasts, I reckon ya cover yer ears and eyes.

World, I made a Finger-Gun. And shot the birds.


(This Individual would like you to know he was barely awake when he perpetrated his wanton act of violence. He only realised what he had done upon waking up a few hours later. And besides, no birds were harmed. They didn't even leave after being shot. Screeching, audacious, little creatures, these Winged-Banshees.)

Desmond and the Neglect.

School's out!
Time to (neglect the assignments and work and) party!!

(-picture by Éole)

Desmond and the Coping Device.

I love this time of year -- even with the midterms and due dates coming.

You see, in light of the many shows returning from hiatus, my mind instinctively shuts out all things depressing, and goes into celebratory mood.

Denial, delusion, or simply a coping device, who cares what you call it -- SHOWS ARE RETURNING. The warm sun rises to melt the winter frost away. Spring is here. Or you know.. Fall Season on American TV.

(This Individual really prefers if you see it as a coping device. It makes him sound saner. But if you do see it otherwise, he must remind you that his mind will instinctively shut you out. )

Desmond and that Morning Rain.

Always, always, a joy to find it raining when I wake.

Desmond & the Broken Playlist.

Playlist has been down for a couple of weeks now and I miss it. Terribly.

But one mustn't mistake my missing it for an unshakable affection for all things Playlist. If I could, I would smack Playlist on the head for being so incredibly difficult. Youareforme.

(This Individual misses convenient music. Youtube is not nearly as convenient and fun as playlist. But if you have alternatives, he gladly welcomes them, and sends you a million thanks in advance.)

Desmond and Calender's Coincidence.

I can't marry or give birth, so that part of today's nine-nine-nine opportunity is lost to me. What I can do, is blog.

So I am blogging, even if for no better reason than Calender's Coincidence. Because these numeric systems don't repeat themselves (at least not authentically) and bandwagons are enticing communal vehicles.

Yeehar.

Desmond and Some Smokey Horror.

It's that time of year again, when Stupidstition gets the better of men and women - who should know better - and rallies them into a burning frenzy.

I pity the environment, but maybe even more so, I pity me. Oh! think of the smoky horror that assaults my senses.

But there is little that can be done, except to shut the windows. That's the smokey remedy then.

Welcome, World, to September.

(This Individual realises most pity-parties are lame. But he would ask you to consider the Smoky Horror, and be entirely honest: "Don't you pity yourself too?" If you do, then join the fun. If you don't, he requests you save your judgement for someone who bothers. That, and a nasal checkup.)