The Strange Existence of Zongo D. Larboni

Renaming the host...

2006-01-21T20:50:00.000Z

I've decided that I can no longer refer to my host as "My Host". It has all sorts of parasitic connotations which make me uncomfortable. Henceforth my host, travelling companion, compatriot, or whatever, will be known as Dobbin.
Every Friday his collegues draw straws to see which one of them gets to invite Dobbin along to the Friday piss up. Now he always says no, but the people in the office live in dread of the day he replies with a hearty "Yes, I'd love to." and proceeds to drink them all under the table. This friday was no different, though I did catch him thinking about it, which was unusual. Its possibly because of the new girl whose just joined the firm as a junior (far too young for Dobbin, but that doesn't stop him dreaming). She is searingly beautiful and (as with all the new people who join the firm) is nice to him. What Dobbin fails to realise is that she's nice to everyone, and when she figures out what a dull bloke he is she'll shift from niceness to ignoring him completely. It happens every time and he always goes through the same process. He'll start off admiring her which he does now. and getting himself all in a tizzy about how to talk to her. He often wonders about going along on Friday nights when there's a new girl in the office but never seems to pluck up the nerve. He'll then start fantasizing about her and thinking up a whole life for them with kids and everything. He'll get so involved in this fantasy that he ends up not being able to speak to her, blushing everytime she smiles at him and generally making an idiot of himself. After about a week of this he'll pluck up the courage to finally ask her out only to find out that she's been snapped up by one of the guys in I.T. (Who'll drop her like a hot knife when the next one comes along.) He then spends about a month talking to no-one, and wondering why the girls always go for the bad boys. (The I.T. guys are all geeks and nerds but to Dobbin they're the epitome of cool and "badness", which he equates with getting pissed on half a shandy and wearing a bomber jacket.) This lasts until a new distraction comes along. (last time it was girl who bought coffee in the same shop as him every morning.)
If I had some way of communicating with him I could let him know what he's doing wrong. I could guide him to his first sexual encounter and maybe give him some kind of happiness. I'll give it some thought.
He's never really been happy you know, like I said before; no real extremes of emotion. The flip side of that is he's never really been unhappy either, he just floats along in his own little life and doesn't bother anyone. What a life though, the extremes are what make us human, they're how we know we're alive. I have my anger at the world and how inane and apathetic it is. He has nothing really, I'd like to be ably to give him that at least.

Z.D.L.

Existential Ponderings...

2006-01-20T17:19:00.000Z

Why am I here? Honestly I have no idea. I'm willing to concede that I may have been created by my host's subconcious to make up for the fact that hes a monumentally repressed individual. Maybe I am merely a manifestation of his repressed wish fulfilment, I am the part of him that may do/say/think the things he doesn't dare to. A more spiritual explanantion may be that the bod in charge of reincarnation double-booked and hasn't got around to fixing it yet, or maybe I had such bad karma from my last life that I don't merit a body of my own. I need not even be here for a reason, it is entirely possible that I am a fluke, a random event in space-time thrown up because in an infinite multiverse, all things are possible.
The cause of my existence isn't of great importance, unless by finding a cause I can find a cure. If its because of bad karma then I can do better next time (though I have no clue as to what I did wrong last time around), if its a psychological flaw in my host then maybe I should be trying harder to get him to loosen up a bit, to do the things he doesn't dare, to speak out of turn and stretch the boundaries of his life. What is important is what I do with the little time I have, my options are quite limited as I'm sure you can imagine. I shouldn't belittle my host's life, he seems perfectly happy (and if anyone should know, I should) and I don't want to use this blog as a means of moaning about all the little things he does that irritate me (you really don't want to here about his sock sorting, or numerous other annoying little foibles). This blog should be about me, my opinions, my perspective and my ambitions and dreams, not his lack of the aforementioned. My life should not be defined in terms of his.
The question I should be asking is not "Why am I?". It focuses on the past and causes which I may never get a handle on. The question should be "Who am I?". So, who am I? My name does not define me, neither do my circumstances, so what does? I think therefore I am, how trite an explanation. Who do I think I am?
I'll tell you when I figure it out myself.

Z.D.L.

The Joy of Tech

2006-01-18T05:37:00.000Z

My companion is not a technical person. He likes filing and mindless data entry tasks (god only knows why). As I have detailed before I have been with him for as long as I can remember, my earliest memory is from when we were about nine years old and We had been waylaid by one of the many brutish and ignorant creatures we went to school with. I was powerless to prevent our lunch being stamped into mush in a filty puddle. The most galling thing about that entire episode was that he just stood there and took it. I asked myself then what kind of spineless snot I was encumbered with, and I have learned exactly what kind in the years since.
Recently he came into some money and decided to get himself a computer as he had heard they were quite useful. The only thing he's done with it since buying the damn thing three weeks ago is catalogue his collection of paper (yes, he collects paper. Don't ask). He also decided to get an internet connection which he had to get one of the boys from the I.T. department at the office to set up for him. He has no interest in it except to visit various sites about paper, the man has no idea that there are pictures of naked ladies which he could be looking at instead (except this one. Blatant false advertising if you ask me, still some of it is quite amusing and their songs are alright.)There is no joy in the new for my man, come to think of it there is no joy, shame really.
Anyway, being trapped as I am I felt it necessary to explore any avenues of escape that I may come across. The duty of the prisoner is to attempt escape, is it not? I love this wonder machine. So much to see, read and do. Most of it is complete tosh of course, crackpot evangelists and conspiracy weirdos mingle seamlessly with scientific journals and philosophers, into a wonderous melange of information. I decided after a few nights spent surfing that I wanted to be a part of this brave new world, and here I am.
This is my escape. My contact point with the world of men. No longer am I confined to my own, and my companion's, thoughts for entertainment, I can interact. I revell in it, this joy of tech.

Z.D.L.

Introductions

2006-01-17T04:19:00.000Z

My name is Zongo, Zongo Larboni. You say you've never met anyone with such an unusual name? You're not likely to meet me either.

I have what might be called by some "an alternative lifestyle" and by others "a mental disorder". I can honestly vouch that neither adequately describe the existence which is mine. You see I live on borrowed time in a stolen body, I can only function in all the ways a human should when my host is asleep, I do not have the strength to overwhelm the conciousness which the world knows and take over full and permanent control of the body I inhabit. I therefore have to live a double life, I experience all the events of his so-called life but cannot react to them, and then I get use of the body while he is asleep. I'm typing this at 4:15am on a Tuesday morning, and if you knew my travelling companion, you would know that he's never awake after 11pm during the week.

I have no contact with my host, and frankly I don't really want any. A more dull and humdrum human being you have never met. He has no passions, no extremes of emotion, nothing riles him or annoys him. I have to admit that I admire his unshakeable solidity though it has made his mind somewhat stagnant. Through his eyes I see events every day which make me want to scream my fury and rancour from the highest rooftops, but I can't. The fact that we could have had a far more interesting life had certain decisions been left in my hands has been a sore point between us for a while now. I say that like we interact, hah! I wish.

I am in a privileged position really, I am privy to his every thought and emotion (whenever they put in an appearance, which is rarely). I know how he anguishes over what kind of cheese to have on his sandwich this lunchtime (Sod the fucking cheese and get some spicy mexican chicken in you! I scream into his mind). I also know which of the girls at the office he is currently masturbating over (But I wouldn't go near her with a long pointy stick). I live his life and then try to eke out my own in the dead of night. I've been living in solitude for years with only myself to scream at, this may have unbalanced me somewhat, and if it has I apologise. Its quite hard to stay sane when you share a body with an emotionally numb and monumentally boring person.

Oops I can feel him stirring, till next time.

Z.D.L.