Well what a fine that week that was. Three funerals in one week. Parents of people I care about. You realise that you have gone to too many funerals when the guys at the crematorium ask you "weren't you here last week?" But some of the things that happened in the past week got me thinking. A friend of mine was given a 3% chance that his mother would live if they did neuro-surgery on her. Not a 3% chance she would be back to normal, but a 3% chance that she would fall into the category that we call "not dead." So he agreed. And got a bill for LKR1.2 million.
It's 5am. I am in Dambulla with Navin, and it looks like we are about to get beaten up. It's my fault of course. It always is. A bunch of robe-monkeys supported by about 2000 idiotic cunts of misery decide that it would be a wonderful thing to attack an Islamic Mosque during prayers. If you gave two tugs of a dead dog's cock about what is happening in Sri Lanka, you would know about this. And with the accuracy of all the news we get, Navin and I decide that it was time for a road trip.
Sometimes, you can't argue with racism. All you can do is laugh at it. There is a post going around facebook that the Sinhala race is dying, because its birthrate is substantially less than that of the Muslims and Tamils. The numbers are wrong. The facts are wrong. It is just a piece of sensationalist lies that certain groups want to accept. There is no arguing with it. Just laughing at it. Hence...  
"This was a great idea you had, Such." "I had? I thought you had it!" When Navn Weeraratne and I had this conversation, we knew we were on to something good. Something big. Something so awesome and geeky and awesomely geeky it could only be called "The Great Geek Retreat". Of course it came out of a drunken conversation - as such things so often do - but it is shaping up to be something special.
Prabhakaran, they say, was captured in Mullaitivu during the last days of the war along with his family, tortured, and killed. Of course, there is no proof about this. Any evidence is circumstantial. What proof exists - if it exists - is probably locked away in some vault.
I always wanted to be a writer. Not just a writer, but a Writer. A Chronicler of my Age. I read the greats. Hemingway. Thoreau. Kerouac. Runyon. And I dreamed of joining those hallowed ranks. Me and Jon Patterson. We were inseparable those days. And his dream was just like mine.
I was there watching the election when Sarath Fonseka ran for president and lost. And then the Army surrounded the Galadari Hotel where he was waiting.
A long time ago my FEW called me a robot. She said that I had no emotions. That I didn't feel. I, of course, took that as a compliment. I have always valued rationality over emotions. Mr. Spock was my hero. Even to this day I would rather solve problems through rational discourse rather than screaming and shouting. But that doesn't seem to work too well with women. Women want me to make an emotional commitment to them. And I find this is something I just cannot do.
The hot news is that the LKGOV is compensating people for engine damages caused by the substandard petrol that was imported by the Ceypetco. Now at face value this sounds like an excellent idea. After all, it is only fair that the people who fucked up your car engine pay for the damage they caused.
Or is it vice-versa? I forget. So Sri Lankan - and perhaps the world - has its first Mayor Monk. Not only did he run for power, but when he was elected he held a temper tantrum fast because The Beast said he couldn't be mayor because he was - you know - a monk. One of those people who have stepped away from lay life for a life of seeking enlightenment.