Well, well, well.
Apologies to the world outside the Internet -if there is such a thing- for my long absence from this page. My good friend Seba said to me the other day, chided me if I'm honest, about my lack of updatingness on the Le Monsieur Blog!
"What kind of gentleman keeps people waiting for that long for a reply to their desperate cries?!" He said.
And, he's right. If you can imagine it, I'm bowing humbly as I type, which means that I can't see the keyboard and have just dislocated my shoulder joints. But that's OK, because breaking ones own arm as an apology is perhaps a very apologetic thing to do. Selfless, passionate and above all apologetically painful. The way it should be, gens. Recently I've been busy with exploring the world of reality, and it's a bit like an injection. That is, shiny, filled with liquid and occasionally painful. (Like my synonyms, maybe.) But as a few of my compatriots iterated to me, reality is a waste of time. If you're going to live, they said, you have to work your way around the pockets of reality and play with it like a new puppy that needs to be trained. Eventually, reality will bend itself into a position that you'll desire to be wedged into and you'll be satisfied wit yourself. Wow.
Such philosophy is a akin to Yoko Ono's messages of wisdom on Facebook, but phrased slightly more oddly. If you knew my compatriots, you'll be very doubtful of their motives in handing out such dodgy advice like condoms in a red light area. But if you knew me, you'd know that I'm a typical Monsieur, who already dodges between reality and unreality like a serial killer in The X Files, and so I agree with them, kind of. What compatriots I have, readers. If you had compatriots like them, you'd be covering the world with a velvet cloth so you dance on it.
And, it'd be fun.
Le Monsieur.
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