The epithet Inclusus is the Latin participle for "imprisoned." That's what I understood from the ten minutes I volunteered to watch the History Channel. The opportune announcement, my exposure to cable's only illuminating provision arrived early in the year. I don't remember the program I am to ironically thank; each hour is saturated with americanized tailorings of history, incomplete reproductions, wild speculations and cunning subtleties employed by the network to arouse universal contempt against unamerican sentiment. I don't care for masticated history- autobiographies are sufficiently fictive( nation-states' are insidiously worse)
Today, my mom baked cookies. The cookies are unimpressive in appearance. My god, I wish she knew how to unify aesthetics with health food. Her cooking is purely organic. Her baking is organic. If she doesn't operate with the best products the times have to offer, our family dinners are unusually quiet. Today, we ate French Lentils with radish. I sat in relative contentment until my step-dad began to disparage his supervisors. My mom mispronounced "fish" with "fitch" and when asked about my studies, I was deprived from the little feelings which had successfully and temporarily elevated my mood. I don't like to embitter dinner with parasitic discussions.
Today, I read in El Comercio that Joran Van der Sloot confessed to mortally stabbing a woman he met at a casino in Lima. Her dead body was collected inside the hotel room they shared the night before he killed her. I imagine the minds of transnational killers to contain a higher degree of hatred for civilization. Homicides are deplorable. In contrast, suicides are socially intriguing. Two weeks ago, a depressed woman jumped off a university building. A friend from high school covered the story for the university's newspaper. Public demand for sensationally tragic stories is equal to satisfying the hunger of insatiable monsters.
Today, I don't mind existing on an occasional basis.
