DEVTOME.COM HOSTING COSTS HAVE BEGUN TO EXCEED 115$ MONTHLY. THE ADMINISTRATION IS NO LONGER ABLE TO HANDLE THE COST WITHOUT ASSISTANCE DUE TO THE RISING COST. THIS HAS BEEN OCCURRING FOR ALMOST A YEAR, BUT WE HAVE BEEN HANDLING IT FROM OUR OWN POCKETS. HOWEVER, WITH LITERALLY NO DONATIONS FOR THE PAST 2+ YEARS IT HAS DEPLETED THE BUDGET IN SHORT ORDER WITH THE INCREASE IN ACTIVITY ON THE SITE IN THE PAST 6 MONTHS. OUR CPU USAGE HAS BECOME TOO HIGH TO REMAIN ON A REASONABLE COSTING PLAN THAT WE COULD MAINTAIN. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SUPPORT THE DEVTOME PROJECT AND KEEP THE SITE UP/ALIVE PLEASE DONATE (EVEN IF ITS A SATOSHI) TO OUR DEVCOIN 1M4PCuMXvpWX6LHPkBEf3LJ2z1boZv4EQa OR OUR BTC WALLET 16eqEcqfw4zHUh2znvMcmRzGVwCn7CJLxR TO ALLOW US TO AFFORD THE HOSTING.

THE DEVCOIN AND DEVTOME PROJECTS ARE BOTH VERY IMPORTANT TO THE COMMUNITY. PLEASE CONTRIBUTE TO ITS FURTHER SUCCESS FOR ANOTHER 5 OR MORE YEARS!

Poorgeoisie

Having everything I ever wanted has turned out to be not everything I wanted. Sian had taken great pains to show me that not only were the things I used to seek futile, they were based in a world of false fact, served up readily. Sian was never one to sit back as reality was read off of shakily-worded cue cards. Still, the beer was cold and my porch did indeed have that 'thousand yard view' she was always talking about. The problem was, the beer was somewhat stolen, and the porch didn't belong to my house, I paid a small fee out of my gardening earnings to sit here and enjoy mine and our days. Mostly mine.

Before I could even take my second sip, there was Sian tumbling down the hill striding in the most haphazard way. I didn't and don't know why I thought about Sian more than I thought about myself, I definitely wasn't in love with her, but her character just seemed so much larger than life it's so easy to get enthralled. With my hospitable inclinations clawing at me, I put down the beer for a moment to reach into my messenger bag, grab a paper cup and settle in for whatever news she inevitably had.

“Sophia Eis Euodoo!”

“Sophia!” Call me a child, one fond of clubhouses, because I always did enjoy being a member, even if there only were three of us. Besides, just saying the word Sophia makes me all nutty inside.

“Brother, where'd you get the beer?”

“Your momma's house.”

“Oh no way? She said something about one of my friends coming by, I didn't know you stayed. You should have called, we could have all–”

“I got it on credit. Necessito credit.” I thought I'd laugh, smirk or something after repeating her words. Necessito credit. Sian, I do wonder.

“Oh? I thought you weren't a fan of that little proposal. You know I'd pay it off for you, it being your first time and all–”

“Second time this week. And it's Monday.” It was only when I said this that it completely dawned on me that Monday means nothing when you are unemployed. Monday is to unemployment as thunderstorms are to oceans.

“Slow the mustang down, Sally. You're telling me after protesting that 'stealing is stealing' you've come around in, what, just over three days?”

I didn't really have a response for that. Not one worth anything anyway, even though the conversation was fairly flippant altogether. Mumbling words analogous to 'needs must' was all I could do. And anyway, I was beginning to like this whole poorgeoisie thing. Sian was right, why did we have to slave away for baubles? Why are we bad people for not wanting baubles? I didn't feel to quote any more of Sian's rhetoric to myself. She was right and right was right.

We sat on that porch for maybe, three, four hours? Par for the course but it still shocked me every time I stood up and looked at my gold-coloured Casio.

Monday became Saturday as we eased our way into the local music haunt. Slim Pickings it was called. Even slimmer when the only guy willing to let you in for free works Mondays and Wednesdays. At our usual spot on the floor, in the corner, with the tablecloth-covered mattress sat Paul, the third of our troupe, and he was gently overseeing the creation of yet another spliff. He'd told us that he heard about a party the night before and managed to score some free weed off the dealer there, promising him that he'd buy an eight ball if he thought it was any good. It was a likely story, but our whole life had become likely stories, so who was I to judge?

Besides, this particular likely story ends with us indulging our hedonisms, so at the very least, Sian and I would be happy, and considering Paul had the smoke, he'd be happy too. That's apparently what this Epicurus guy thought, all you need is right in front of you, and from the little I'd read, Epicurus seemed like a pretty wise man. Who better to model your living after, than a wise man? And in true Epicurean style, Paul motioned to the owner, who was patiently eyeing the spliff.

“Be good to your friends, be good to yourself-”

“And all else will follow!” We said, speaking now in chorus, having memorised the phrase through brute rote repetition. Johann, the club owner, just smiled at us and followed Paul up the stairs. He didn't quite know how far we'd gone into our most significant illuson yet but now that the joint was rolled, the gang was here and the roof terrace was empty, he was about to learn.

Flash Fiction


QR Code
QR Code poorgeoisie (generated for current page)
 

Advertise with Anonymous Ads