light my pyre

had a phone conversation with a close buddy of mine.

lasted 51 minutes and 46 seconds. that's a record. normally, guys "bond" this way:

him: hey.
me: sup.
him: not much. you?
me: same old.
him: aight.
me: later.

through that, men find a common ground. they get to understand each other through a short conversation, or the unspoken code.

this wasn't going to be one of those days.

apparently, this buddy of mine has imbibed an elixir that has triggered the synapses in his brain. nothing illegal mind you, but perhaps a tad bit addicting.

since i promised that i won't inadvertently "borrow" his liquid ideas, i'll stop mentioning the mystery drink.

i will mention its effects though.

what it brought about was a level of lucidity, which is to a point, absurd. suddenly, he's beset with ideas.

did i mention that my buddy has a way with words?

so, we get into this discussion about things past, present, and future. we also delve into things that we've taken for granted, as well as how mortality is evident around us.

we talk about going back home and exacting a whimsical revenge on our comrades.

finally, we talk about writing.

and ego.

i tell him that to me, these last two things are interrelated in some way; that my take on writers and their lot is that they're a bunch of egotistical maniacs, to a degree.

i elaborate by saying that for those who write things and leave it out for the public to ogle; they're just trying to find a way for people to stoke their ego -- be it a positive feedback or no, it still validates their existence. those that say that they don't really care whether it is a criticism that they harbor from readers, it all comes down to being noticed.

i ought to know. i'm a pretender myself.

and, i don't really care what people think of my words.

but i do like being noticed.