July is a spiteful wench. She loves to suck the vitality from your bones and from your mind.
She has hair made of fire, spits photons at your eyes, and loves to sit in the car with you when you have no AC.
She holds the south in her iron, super-heated grip.
Ugh. You need to sleep.
Friday, 23 July 2010
Thursday, 22 July 2010
Period.
I want.
No, 'want' is the wrong word. I never 'want' to do this.
Allow me to retry: rather than me wanting to cry, tears themselves want to fall from my eyes.
But no. There's no time for tears. There's absolutely none.
They didn't roll off so easily today. First time in a long time.
No, 'want' is the wrong word. I never 'want' to do this.
Allow me to retry: rather than me wanting to cry, tears themselves want to fall from my eyes.
But no. There's no time for tears. There's absolutely none.
They didn't roll off so easily today. First time in a long time.
I had a dream that someone blew my brains out. It felt so real. And I actually died. It didn't hurt, but I felt wind go through my head.
For some reason, though, I either didn't die or came back as something less than living.
I remember dusty roads, a blue sky, air the colour of blue-chrome, a cold sort of look, a lonely and old sort of look, a baseball field with a curved fence (the one that looms behind the batter's plate/mound/whatever).
I also think I sought revenge. Woke up before things started making sense.
I knew the guy who shot me. Way back from childhood.
They say every face in a dream is one from real life. Dreams do not come from nothing.
Speaking of dreams, I saw Inception tonight. Very good film.
I can't think.
For some reason, though, I either didn't die or came back as something less than living.
I remember dusty roads, a blue sky, air the colour of blue-chrome, a cold sort of look, a lonely and old sort of look, a baseball field with a curved fence (the one that looms behind the batter's plate/mound/whatever).
I also think I sought revenge. Woke up before things started making sense.
I knew the guy who shot me. Way back from childhood.
They say every face in a dream is one from real life. Dreams do not come from nothing.
Speaking of dreams, I saw Inception tonight. Very good film.
I can't think.
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
Oh how they run.
Words love to run away from me. They want to starve the writer inside of sustenance.
Those bloody bastards. Am I going to have to start swallowing dictionaries like daily supplements now?
Those bloody bastards. Am I going to have to start swallowing dictionaries like daily supplements now?
Phantom Touch.
I chose this title simply because I saw it somewhere and thought to myself:
'What an interesting combination of words.'
Is it wrong to let it all slide off like so many droplets of water and oil? Is it wrong to never let them sink in, seep in, and settle? Is it wrong to wipe them off like bothersome sweat?
Either way, I'll keep doing it all the same. After all, there simply isn't enough time.
'What an interesting combination of words.'
Is it wrong to let it all slide off like so many droplets of water and oil? Is it wrong to never let them sink in, seep in, and settle? Is it wrong to wipe them off like bothersome sweat?
Either way, I'll keep doing it all the same. After all, there simply isn't enough time.
Let's restart like it's 2012.
My blog's life cycle seems to be mirroring Mayan prophecy about 2012. What I thought was an end was rather a new beginning. See, I actually like for people to see what I have hear. It's a way to infect the internet with my ego. Is this selfish? Maybe.
But enough with the pessimism - or at least so much of it. I'm keeping in the mind the 'employer takes a look at all your information online' possibility and treading this ice carefully. I like the cold, but I don't want to freeze to death.
So recently I've discovered that I no longer care for wordsmithery. My fingers and pen and keyboard were once on fire for the novel, the short story, the essay. It's just not in me right now. It may be lying there dormant, but I simply want to move on to something else. I don't mind being typified as a writer, but I desire to be something else, too. However, that writer does still take shallow, withering breathes, because even as I write this post, I feel the need to be poetic, using metaphor and simile and other words I learned in English class that I've forgotten. I'm even trying to watch the proximity of my words, checking that two words aren't too close to each other.
And right now, I just pressed backspace and fixed a typo. Twice, now, actually. Oh, took out a spacing error!
Anyway, lately, I've been RPing my life away. This is why I cannot relax, cannot slow down, cannot play video games, cannot 'play' period. As Brother John said, one of my favourite simple quotes of all time: "There is simply not enough time." (Damn, I wrote two "times" too close to each other.) I feel as though I must keep pressing forward into this unknown road that's been lying before me for ages, yet I was too afraid to step forward.
"Swallow your fears.
Swallow the things that hold you back
That hold you back from
Living life."
A song. Plays at work all the time. Folks, truth comes in many forms, even in song.
I can no longer live in a fantasy world of ornery, snappy Korean women who control energy, 16 year old schoolgirls that transmutate bodily mass into knives and kill people part time, and alien commandos who can manipulate shadows. All of these crazy, raging ideas and vivid, colourful insane characters in my mind must be put back in their toy box for now, the child in me must go to bed, and the man I am must go to work.
There is a road before me. There are footsteps ground into the dirt, from where I dared ventured forward but a couple of times. But now, I must strap on my bag, tighten my shoe laces, step forward once more.
And never look back.
But enough with the pessimism - or at least so much of it. I'm keeping in the mind the 'employer takes a look at all your information online' possibility and treading this ice carefully. I like the cold, but I don't want to freeze to death.
So recently I've discovered that I no longer care for wordsmithery. My fingers and pen and keyboard were once on fire for the novel, the short story, the essay. It's just not in me right now. It may be lying there dormant, but I simply want to move on to something else. I don't mind being typified as a writer, but I desire to be something else, too. However, that writer does still take shallow, withering breathes, because even as I write this post, I feel the need to be poetic, using metaphor and simile and other words I learned in English class that I've forgotten. I'm even trying to watch the proximity of my words, checking that two words aren't too close to each other.
And right now, I just pressed backspace and fixed a typo. Twice, now, actually. Oh, took out a spacing error!
Anyway, lately, I've been RPing my life away. This is why I cannot relax, cannot slow down, cannot play video games, cannot 'play' period. As Brother John said, one of my favourite simple quotes of all time: "There is simply not enough time." (Damn, I wrote two "times" too close to each other.) I feel as though I must keep pressing forward into this unknown road that's been lying before me for ages, yet I was too afraid to step forward.
"Swallow your fears.
Swallow the things that hold you back
That hold you back from
Living life."
A song. Plays at work all the time. Folks, truth comes in many forms, even in song.
I can no longer live in a fantasy world of ornery, snappy Korean women who control energy, 16 year old schoolgirls that transmutate bodily mass into knives and kill people part time, and alien commandos who can manipulate shadows. All of these crazy, raging ideas and vivid, colourful insane characters in my mind must be put back in their toy box for now, the child in me must go to bed, and the man I am must go to work.
There is a road before me. There are footsteps ground into the dirt, from where I dared ventured forward but a couple of times. But now, I must strap on my bag, tighten my shoe laces, step forward once more.
And never look back.
Thursday, 15 July 2010
The End.
As of today, I'm closing up shop here. It's been fun. But most things end, and this blog is one of them.
Cheers!
Cheers!