More Bihar Issues

More Bihar Issues

Hello again, America. I write this from within your borders, having arrived home safely after a month in India, spent mostly without any access to the internet. My apologies that they didn't anticipate my visit better. I pray you are willing to hear some of my stories, despite not giving you a spoiler alert and already telling you I survived the trip.

I actually did begin writing another Bihar Issues, from the city of Ahmedabad, which is a city in the state of Gujarat, which is another word that means nothing to you or me. It's a state where alcohol is illegal, thus making it the lamest state in any place in the world (excluding West Virginia. BOOM!! Take that, Mountaineer State!). Really though. Not a drop. I guess they figured if people want to get fucked up, they can just drink the water.

I didn't get to finish the entry, however, because I was actually shamed into deleting it by my sherpa because it was so ignorant. Now, judging by how ignorant most of my writings are to begin with, this clearly meant I was doing something spectacularly wrong. So I reluctantly took my Old Yeller of a blog entry and shot it to death, both cruelly and mercifully.

Wow. What am I doing with my life? Destroying my art because of the ignorant point of view that it comes from? That's certainly never stopped me before. Why let it now? Am I becoming censored because I want to get laid? (not likely, given the relative "assuredness" that that will happen regardless. As long as I make sure I don't come off cocky). Or is it something more than that? Did my time in India - my time actually seeing, firsthand, all the anonymous faces that I so often shit on from the safe and cozy home I have in the states - did that experience trigger something in my head, some sort of new world view that makes me a little more conscious of what I'm saying and who I might be affecting by doing so?

That's the type of bullshit a trip to a 3rd-world country will do to you. It makes you question your shit a little. The trip definitely rattled me a bit. As far as things I'm sure of, I'm down to pretty much 1. I like titties, and 2. Gimme some titties! After that, it's pretty much a free-for-all in my head right now.

I actually have to run, as I'm running out of time in this cyber cafe (known as my couch). But I do still have some stories to share about the trip, and I have some photos as well. Maybe the next one will be funnier? Ah yes, that's the fun of a blog by Bryson. You never know when you're going to get to the end and say to yourself, "Is this seriously the end? Is he going to say anything funny? Or is he just going to try to predict what I'm thinking right now and not be funny until the next entry? And by next entry, I mean about 3 months from now. What the hell is wrong with this guy?"

"Wait. Wait, is he still trying to guess what I'm thinking? Seriously? I don't get it. Is this some form of meta-humor or something? Like it's so not funny it's funny? Because it's not. And not in the 'not, but therefore yeah' kind of way. Just in the regular 'not' kind of way. This just isn't funny. Period."

"Okay, at this point it is kind of funny. Because all I can think about is how big a loser he was, sitting on his couch, typing this, trying to take himself even the least bit seriously as an artist as he wrote this, him sitting there, imagining me reading this right now, him imagining me sitting at my desk at work, or at home, or reading this on my iPhone, him hoping on some level that this brings some entertainment into my otherwise boring day, him imagining me imagining him writing this and imagining me reading this, imagining him writing this, imagining me writing this, imagining him reading what I'm writing."

I literally just got a little dizzy reading that last sentence. I think it's probably time for me to go. Talk to you soon.

"Seriously, stop it. I have shit to do."

No you don't. But fine.