First Rule of Absurdia

Language is a tool. Or so they say. They include great scholars of living and equally great mourners of dead. They might be mutually exclusive but there is no reason for this might be to be true and they being the same, simply two sides of coin or even two colors mixed together making them something new, grand, alien, supernaturally human or ungodly deities. Whatever… we all are absolutely equal from basic constituents of our body parts to uniquely diversified needs of ultimate death.

Some bozo’s sitting at the top of caved in mountains (strictly speaking, they sit right next to beggars of pot holed pavements. But beggars got dignity of leaving all their self behind and begging. Bozo’s beg, hiding in undergarments of their 2 year old children), scratched their heads at above observation of equality and like they usually do whenever required to use brains came to conclusion by the game of loudest voice wins. Winner proposed one rule.

The first rule of Absurdia:

“All shengdanas were born equal and would die an equal death.”

This way shengdanas of this great republic don’t really matter but some obscure quantity, a number thrown at each other. E.g. yearly production of Shengdana is xyz 000 metric ton.

 I wonder, how this many shengdanas stand still till they are weighed and used for such dirty purpose?

The reason behind reasoning.

I thought about writing the Annals of Shengdana Republic of Absurdia. But dates are always confusing and no matter how hard one can try tend to repeat themselves so I settled on incomprehensible ramblings.

I dreamt of a dream in which I was dreaming about the valley in the far, remote corner of this wide spread republic. The valley was piercing the eyes with loud screams of greenery. The shapes of mountains wrecked havoc in the ears with echoes of my breath. It was unbelievably beautiful.

I woke up from the dream of a dream in which I dreamt about the valley. I never bothered to search that place. Cause nothing remains unbelievable in this Shengdana Republic of Absurdia. I am sure, some concrete born, geometrically dumb structure must have replaced all the greeneries and there are already too many pot holes in my road to the cinema hall, waiting for the remaining mountains to cave in them.

In a way, I would write annals. And pass it on as rambling. Even I haven’t learned to differentiate between their meanings.