Mighty Jacksparrow is an Earth-based sub-intergalactic blogger who enjoys writing and in the same time entertaining his ever-amusing will-kill-to-read fans with sensationally hilarious and at times dramatic musings. This blog offers endless ideas and results; they might be charming most of the times but could be offending in some others. Therefore, it is always noble to remind that if you enjoy the pieces, carry on reading, but if they upset you, do quietly leave like the evening breeze and not like exploding diarrhea, which exactly what you will look like if you ever lose it on me. Enjoy! :D

Sunday, October 04, 2009

The Autobiography - Nothing Could Be More Nonsensically Entertaining Than This

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said,

"The writer as we know he has now been in existence for over twenty four years and a few more counting months, and will be ending in a little over half an hour. So welcome, one and all, to the blog of the totally misled and confused the Mighty Jacksparrow from which he claims every little things he sees daily are observed and visualized from the optical points of view of certain avian varieties that appear to be what we today recognize as tiny little sparrows, hence the blog title 'Life as Seen in the Eyes of a Sparrow'. "

* * *

It occurred to me at times that made me go on wondering: should someone one day comes up with an idea, lets hope it is a good one, and wants to write about me, how would it - the biography - goes?

Some said that they accidentally found me quite, no, way too serious at times while certain others claimed that I appeared to be purely hilarious and witty around the clock. There be another set of people that tends to agree that I, somehow and somewhat entirely, am sarcastic to a point that I may be highly regarded to be as 'one of the few awful things that most parents will fight against for the sake of the happiness of their children', for whatever reasons there are. Quite to my amusement, they might as well address me as 'a mindless jerk but somehow an incredibly sensible one who was the first against the wall when the revolution came' as depicted in the Guide. But that was long ago.

On the other hand however, a group will cheer on to be having me being spotlighted on the stage while they wait in the surrounding darkness for me to amuse them with exclusively charming stories from my underlying writing talent that turn out in the end to be excessively addictive. Highly unlikely to ever stop listening, now they say, "bravo, Jacksparrow. Give us another one."

And these traits, or whatever characteristics that describe me as a whole, to my understanding are concluded to form one singular personality of mine, and I believe it is completely harmless to say that many of the people I have met, if they do not yet to hate me (whose who have already did, bless you all), find me as 'interestingly entertaining'.

So let's talk about my DOUBTEDLY exceptional literature knowledge and writing skills.

* * *

Bless me and thank you God, for giving me this somehow profoundly appreciated but oftenly overrated talents of writing and storytelling. But it was not, never really being aforementioned nor told before, that I found my talents to write as almost instantly and consciously, yet also not unconsciously even but somewhere in the middle. It was during this one time a few years back when I found myself completely frustrated over something I could not really recall while I was in a toilet during class hour. Had with me nothing but a notebook and a blunt pencil, so I started writing, and my talents slowly developed.

An earlier attempt at using the newly developed writing talent, I was totally walking in circle, which according to Marvin as "just to make the point", creating useless, mind-wasting stories over stories in my then newly-established old blog. In theory, I thought my ability to write would make it 'easy for one to understand that anything would easily go wrong, despite the ease to think otherwise'. It was not successful, however, ending in a total catastrophic disaster one would occasionally comment as 'outstandingly a celebrated failure'. This was because, in these earlier times when the nature of my writing was less well understood, it was not appreciated that any event that is uneasy will, by definition, be easily understood and accepted.

Thinking that my intelligence at the time was my only asset, I started planning things over. This was a mistake. The once formidable me found myself overcome with crippling sorrow and depression, and rather than focusing on my writing, instead sulked in corners doing paper origami of swans and somewhat overweight grizzly bears.

Meanwhile, I, being the stubborn yet so disturbingly disturbed and probably the oddest egoist in the whole universe took the time in between each origami, which was around three to four seconds, to ask myself why, why things turned out to be this way, only to see that every way I went were dead ends with some miserable and misfortune rabbits lying in the middle of the road with hopes that passing cars might squash them flat but neither does, because they were dead ends where no car could possibly come around. It was not until God himself sent me a number of reminder and ideas in the form of white lights and sometimes terrible slapping only pissed off working mothers could only come out with, that it was finally revealed to me that the reason behind every other to answer the then ultimate question of mine 'Why, Why Things Turned Out To Be This Way' was nothing more than my own stupidity. The reason I failed to comply was simply because I was young and stupid, that's why.

Upon knowing, writing was instantly abandoned to give way to other nonsensical obsessions of mine that one may find not only 'vaguely interesting but also taken to a whole new other dimension'. My old blog was left to rot and rust while I was out in the wild to chase this seldomly misleading thoughts that we confidently refer to as dreams.

But being the apparently afflicted with severe depression, frustration and boredom me, mainly in part because I have too many things to tell but with writing devices which I was seldom able to use, I saw myself getting back into writing. Indeed, the true horror of my writing skills existence was that nothing I could be writing would spore out from even the tiniest fraction of my highly arguable vast intellect.

So I started writing again, this time covering stories of the major mathematical, physical, chemical, biological, sociological, philosophical, etymological, meteorological and psychological problems of the Universe except my own. I seemed to find this last task the hardest, and the only one reason why there were no people reading at least even the first few words of my poorly planned articles let alone quoted them in their blogs nor having them published in notorious numbers of widely-and-openly-sold books and magazines parents occasionally buy for their hardly-thinking but still as cute toddlers in their early days of learning and development.

Nevertheless, having the willpower equal to that of a certainly misguided and upset young mother of three that has lost one son in the huge crowds during year-end sale but still has the hopes to find him while she searches for more discounted items, I decided not to give up. Upon endless readings and references I obtained from strange people I have met along the way, I learned not only to write about them but also in beautiful way of telling. This then went on for a few more years until I arrived here today at this very second to tell you how I started off to becoming a writer.

Never I'd thought the day will come when I will obtain such fame from writing, starting off with something so embarrassingly crappy close to the poem made famous by Poet Master Grunthos the Flatulent "Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning" (it was so bad that four of his audience members died of internal hemorrhaging) to something that might be less crappy but somewhat are entertaining enough to keep the readers coming. To date I have published various poems, short-stories, half a novel, another half a novel and other related works my readers would refer to as 'another extravagant piece of work that, by effectively relating his stories to those low-budget Spanish soaps but strong enough to start epidemics, has depicted more dramas than anything else in the history of Tamil entertainment industries.'

Therefore, I'd say thank you very much.

1 comment:

Piah the Becok said...

yauzah!!! keep on writing.