FissionedSorting it out, one post at a time.

In what feels like my final hours, I welter under the blankets with a terminal case of self-pity (and the flu) as I keep death at bay by posting lists to my blog. It's hard to say which part is the saddest, my self-pity or the fact that I spend my time writing nonsense.

Earlier today, I had to stagger all the way to the store to buy comfort candy, all by my sorry self. And now I feel like throwing up. Damned be those devilishly temptatious big bags of cheez doodles.

The game is quite simple. You answer silly questions by shuffling your play list. I was initially driven by boredom rather than interest, but when I asked: "If you reached the top of Mount Everest, what would you scream?", and the answer came as Kate Bush' "Running Up That Hill", even I was spooked.

Actually, one shouldn't be surprised. I have been told by one of Norway's most famous psychics that I am "gifted", and that I should develop my gift rather than suppress it. Next, she asked if I was short, chubby and dark, but for all I know she could be talking about my inner self.

I have read people's fortunes in both coffee-grounds and tarot cards, and my gullible clients have often stood flabbergasted because of the accuracy of my predictions. If the world wants to be deceived, who am I to wreck the party?

Anyways, here is what happened when I had nothing better to do than to experiment with using Windows Media Player as a Ouija board. It should come as no surprise that Microsoft is secretively connected to the cosmos. If the letters in WMP are rearranged, the message: "ANALYSED WEIRDO WIMP" appears. I rest my case.

If the results are impressive, I should probably inform enthralled readers that in line with the much cited "file-drawer effect", I took the liberty of disregarding questions that got hits I didn't like. In a couple of instances I might even have shuffled twice if the first answer didn't meet my standards.

Unscientific methods notwithstanding, the task kept me entertained for hours, and I didn't give a single thought to my aching body during that time of excitement.

Turns out, my media player is painfully honest and a little bit naughty.

The next time you stand up in front of a group of people, you'll say:

If only. If only I had the balls to do this. According to WMP, I would dance a little funky dance, bob my head and sing:

-Here comes the hotsteppa, I'm the lyrical gangsta..

It is true. White girl is so skillful - she should be put in jail.

(Ini Kamoze, video)

Your favorite thing to say when drunk is:

Do you really wanna party with me?
Let me see just what you got for me
Put all your hands where my eyes can see
(Busta Rhymes)

When you wake up in the morning, you mutter:

It seems I don't mutter at all. My mornings start beautifully.

You pull back the curtains, and the sun burns into your eyes.
You watch a plane fly across a clear blue sky.
This is the day, your life will surely change.
This is the day, when things fall into place.

(This is the day, The The)

Your message to the world:

I may not be as dismayed by the world as Martha Wainwright is in this song, but I do sympathize with her pain.

You say my time here has been some sort of joke
That I've been messing around
Some sort of incubating period
For when I really come around
I'm cracking up
And you have no idea how it feels to be on your own
In your own home

You bloody mother fucking asshole

Your life's soundtrack:

-Guess I'm doing fine
(Beck)

If you found yourself lost on a deserted island, you'd yell:

Great job WMP. Rub my nose in it.
I'm alone, lost on a deserted island. And I have to listen to..

-Live here with you
(Dusty Springfield)

On your deathbed, you'll whisper:

I certainly hope it doesn't come to this, but it does at times seem unavoidable.

-All Apologies
(Nirvana)

Your deepest secret:

So you want to go there? This session of spiritism/psychoanalysis started out fine, with lighthearted entertainment. Now I think the voices from beyond are way out of line.

I want a lover I don't have to love
I want a boy who's so drunk he doesn't talk
(Bright Eyes)

You Scream During Sex:

What a lovely scene that presents itself to my inner eye. It truly is a Kodak moment, me straddling some poor unwitting fellow as if my life depended on it, and in the moment of climax, I moan like a crazy rainbow child:

-Oooh yeah, baby! Only love can set us free.
(Terry Callier)

What's your excuse for posting this:

Apparantly, I post this because I'm Dazed and Confused. (Led Zeppelin)

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