I’ve always had an idiosyncratic sense of humour: more often mourning or exuding sadness of other people bring about fits of laughter in me. Interestingly, though I attribute such appeal to mockery and sarcasm to my own indefatigable hubris, I find narcissism and delusions of grandeur (mostly in sadness and in pain) of other people extremely comical.
Reading a tale of shattered love is always fun ( a device which according to my analysis remains by far the most popular modus operandi in blogging world, winning the race with closeted atheists and homosexuals), but recently I’ve read a piece which made me laugh even after days of reading—a classic example of rationality raped.
Our protagonist is heart-broken of course. And yes he has been mourning the lost love for ages. Of course, what is a life without a sense of loss and heartache, even if that’s an imagined one? But now in his search for grandeur, his delusions have taken a new turn. Not only he has a broken heart, an agonizing pathetic history of whining, he has assumed a new role--the most forgiving dumped lover with imagined omnipotence over the life of his unrequited love, as according to him in his fit of love or hatred, he can destroy all she has: D Now it’s actually the lowest level of stupidity, though masquerading as maturity in an impressive narrative, that I’ve come across in a while.
I don’t understand how come a act of utter desperation, not much different from a 5 year old girl who breaks her favourite doll to keep it to herself, rather than to give it to her 4 year old sister, be deemed glorious by the author, much less by a reader? And this utter animalistic desperation and selfishness is called either love or hatred, and then followed by a gigantic leap in megalomania by an assertion that not doing so is a sacrifice in love :D
Third rate affairs pretty much end in the same way, the jealous former lover exposing the old love letters, again an act which is idiotic as well as pathetic, how come not being a cry-baby for once translates into sacrifice in the name of ‘love’ is beyond me. The funny part is that the author actually is so deluded that he believes in his own crap and has added one memorabilia in his trophy closet. With Pain, Sadness, Lost love, there now rests Sacrifice, a collection of themes for his epic life, which to me appears only a pile of delusion that smells funny.
Can’t help laughing.
It’s been a conscious effort on my part to conceal the identity of said author, but in case anyone finds out (including that author), this post wasn’t meant to be a disgrace. Just that, it was becoming too hard to laugh silently. I do admire his narrative, it is just his delusions and subject that I find funny.