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BLOGGER
Youngest kid of six with an inferiority and black sheep complex, but determined that God saves not just his soul to heaven but the remainder of his manic-depressive life, so others won't say he became a Christian and remained a jerk.
MAIN THEMES
On identity i won't be transparent before i'm opaque. and you'll get to know me starting from the small things: who my favourite bands are. what kind of movies i like. who are my heroes. On Christianity I’m convinced that when confronted with sincere, real love, the Jesus factor will become obvious. But let’s not plant the cross before we carry it. I’m not trying to con you. On dreams Some dreams are meant to be achieved. I know that. But maybe other dreams are meant to drive us, privately. Never known to anyone but ourselves.
OTHER THEMES
On melancholy It is a sadness that, when choosing between crying and sighing, will choose sighing. I'd almost say that melancholy is being sad about sadness itself. On memory and nostalgia It saddens me when life moves forward and people decide that certain things are worth forgetting. On language I've learnt that the word irregardless is filed as a non-standard word in the English language. That's a lexicographer's way of saying it's not a real word. On politics Crowds are fickle things. So when we stand in the thousands and cry against the present government, do we know who we're actually crying for? On society People always want the best for themselves. But I want to sometimes take second or third or fourth best, just so that the loser down the road doesn't always have to come in last. It must feel like shit to always come in last. On growing old Leasehold property make me feel sad. It doesn't matter how old the family photos are that you put on your wall. It's your family but it's not really your wall. On philosophy I ask you, if God loves everyone, and if God is also incapable of loving evil, how can there be such a thing as an evil man? On a daily basis One line quips, like this. CHAT
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ARCHIVE
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Monday, December 13, 2004
POKER WITH THE DEVIL 4/6My turn. I exchange a portion of that money for a thousand dollars worth of chips. I'm sitting there, across the table from the devil. He's got his eyes closed. He starts sniffing the air in front of his face and starts talking. "I know you. Always folding though you've got the king" Then he opens his eyes and sees me. A regular. A regular loser. I almost feel like telling him I know him back: always full of jack. But I stop myself. "You play a twenty-forty game," he looks for a twenty dollar chip from the city of chips before him. And plops it onto the middle of the table. "No," I say. "Double the blinds." The devil looks up, as if caught by surprise for a fraction of time, and then he breaks into the biggest smile ever. "All the more for me, then!", as he plops in another twenty without looking. I put in my starting bet and he hands me the deck of cards to be cut. There are two things you should know when you play poker with the devil. One, always insist on a fresh deck. I've seen men play away all their chips on 51-card decks. Two, always insist on cutting the deck. He shuffles funny. So I cut the deck. And he deals me my pocket. As the card glides from his end of the table before me and stops just where it should, I think about the thin man and I look up. There the devil was, turning his pocket card, mulling over it and making rude comments about queen of hearts. He does that all the time. He's dealing, so I'm opening the bets. I put my left hand on the table, next to the card. I put my right hand on top of my chips and I wait for him to quit acting like an idiot. Eventually, he stops playing around with his pocket card, puts it back faced down and notices that I haven't touched mine. "Not about to sniff your queen?" I'm not listening to him today. He's always making rude jokes about the queens. And in my head, I keep trying to think of the thin man but for some reason, nothing is coming into my head. I try to imagine his face, but no face comes to mind. So I start to think of the man who came in and played no-limit poker. I have no idea what he looks like, I don't even have proof that he exists - except for the fact that the devil before me has nothing to his name. I pick up a forty dollar chip and toss it on the table. I have not seen my pocket. The devil lets out a big sigh and shakes his head. "Another one of his disciples..." he starts to grin really big again. "You fellows depress me. Just ten minutes ago, this man comes up to me and decides to do it like you're doing it. He had six hundred with him. Spent it all in one hand. Reraising and reraising. Lost it all! Six hundred. One hand! It was so depressing. His pocket was nothing he expected." Now, his big grin is a big chuckle. "You should have seen his face. You depress me". "At least he had six hundred. You've had nothing for years," And for the first time, the devil's fraction-of-time surprise takes a bit longer in recovery. "Just deal me my card." Labels: fiction Genusfrog [
11:37 pm ]
 
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