| Moo. 2007-08-13 00:05:32 ET |
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My muscles hurt. Mosquito bites itch. I'm dehydrated. I'm feeling opressed by the objects around me. I just want to stretch my arms out and spin, knocking everything out of the way.
I want to lay down and exhale and relax my body completely. But I do not want to go to sleep. I just want to relax and not worry about bugs or whatever.
I want to write. I want to get feedback. I want to sit down and write out a full story. Stories. A novel. Novels. I want to think and theorize and write all the shit going through my head down. I want to have constant inspiration. I want to be able to think fully and clearly while writing instead of in the pauses between the keystrokes.
I want to listen to good music, mostly instrumental. Watch good movies and not movies that could've been good.
Moo.
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| Writing for the hell of it. 2007-08-12 23:36:51 ET |
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She woke up on the bus heading south. Had a splitting headache and couldn't for the life of her remember how she got there. Her arms had scratches reaching from her wrists to her shoulders but whether or not they were a clue to her current situation she wasn't sure.
She couldn't remember the previous day. Coem to think of it she couldn't remember anything actually. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She still remembered the english language. She still knew that a bus was a bus. But when she tried to remember anything about herself she drew a total blank. It's not like it was on the tip of her tongue, tip of her mind. It was as if the memories never existed in the first place. As if everything was starting from the point of wakefulness. Like a wind up music box breaking into the second half of a song that was never playing in the first place.
Her headache was a thundering bass hum trembling about her ears. Her stomach was a topsy-turvy of butterflies and hunger. She must not have eaten anything in a while.
She waited for the bus to stop. But it just kept on going. Never stopping anywhere, never hitting traffic. Just floating along like water in a stream. This was it. The long haul to nothingness.
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| wtf 2007-08-12 23:14:33 ET |
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I live in the old folks home. The kicker is that they don't know that I live there. I move about dressed up as one of the orderlies. Except that I dye my hair blue. The ladies love that. It reminds them of themselves and their own aesthetic tendency to lean in that contrast direction.
Some people might call me a pervert for sitting in on the daily showers administered by the local nurses. But I'm not the one who set up the two-way mirror in the baths on the 14th floor and I'm not the one who poked the dual eye holes in the ceiling right next to the lamp where nobody would see a strange pair of eyeballs looking straight down. And I didn't write "Kilrouy was here" on the inside of every bathroom stall in the building. Or maybe that was me. I don't know. When I get drunk I get amnesia.
Before I moved here I used to work part time at a private detective agency. No suspense thriller novel shit. Just stright out divorce cases. Follow some poor slag around with a 35mm, hand on the shutter trigger, hoping the light would be good enough for a half-blurred shot of carnal involvement. The poor mistress might be the guy's wife as sometimes happened. What, I said to the paying clients, I'm supposed to follow your spouse 24/7 till he fucks somebody. Sometimes that somebody is you.
Sometimes that somebody is the bosses' wife. Sometimes that gets you fired.
Sometime ago I moved into the old persons home. I live here as quiet as a mouse. They have heathere in the winter. And running water. And indoor plumbing. I think I like it here. I think I'll stay.
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| 2007-08-10 18:42:47 ET |
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You don't understand.
Nobody understands
Esperanto
v2.0.
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| Goals 2007-07-19 21:29:55 ET |
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I need to set some goals for myself. Something to aim for and surpass.
Hmmm.....
Goal 1: Win the megamillions lottery jackpot tomorrow.
Okay, if that happens I'll have 37 million bucks! (before taxes)
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| Colour 2007-06-24 02:42:29 ET |
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Damn, which color should I use for my fonts?
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| Bored. About to go to work. On a Sunday. 2007-06-24 02:40:28 ET |
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I Ball SoF (7:40:11 AM): Fighting cancer should be like the Highlander idea
I Ball SoF (7:40:20 AM): We have them eat each other until there's only one left.
I Ball SoF (7:40:29 AM): Then we give it a medal and make it an honorary citizen.
I Ball SoF (7:40:35 AM): "The cancer that ate cancer."
I Ball SoF (7:40:41 AM): That deserves a medal.
I Ball SoF (7:41:37 AM): They should call some new disease "Fun".
I Ball SoF (7:41:40 AM): "What'd he die of?"
I Ball SoF (7:41:45 AM): "He had too much fun."
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