Subspace Fractures and You

I deleted the poetry I put on here. A blog is no place for poetry. Technically, a blog isn't even a place.

I woke up at 8:00 this morning and I haven't eaten all day. That's not good, but I'm tired of making sandwiches, and I don't have any cereal. Well, I do, but it's awful, so I'm not going to eat it. I guess I could make chicken or eggs (or both, for the ultimate culinary quandary!), but I probably won't.

Are you bored? I'm taking a survey, but don't tell anyone. It's a secret.

Living alone is making me a bit crazier. I mean, it's just boring. I talk to myself when I walk anywhere. It's more just trying to process things externally, but I'm sure I seem crazy to people in my wake.

"Did you see that guy?"
"I'm blind, you jackass."

Have you ever tried it? It really works, or at least it does for me. Seriously. Although the whole not stopping when you pass people thing is optional - optionally required, that is.

Did you know Alex Cason shaved?

Are you bored now?

Two Drunk Men

(Two drunk men are rifling through DRUNK MAN #1's basement.)

DRUNK MAN #1: Wait, what are we doing again?

DRUNK MAN #2: We'rr lookin' for somethin' to play russian roulette with.

DRUNK MAN #1: Oh. Right. Was that my idea... or yours?

DRUNK MAN #2: I think it was yours.

DRUNK MAN #1: Mine?

DRUNK MAN #2: Yeah. Yours.

DRUNK MAN #1: Oh. Okay.

DRUNK MAN #2: What?

DRUNK MAN #1: Well, it's just-

DRUNK MAN #2: What?

DRUNK MAN #1: I don't think I have a gun.

DRUNK MAN #2: You don't?

DRUNK MAN #1: No, I don't.

DRUNK MAN #2: Well dammit, what'rr we doin' here? I've got a gun at my

house. In my attic, in fact.

DRUNK MAN #1: Well sorry... I'm a little high right now.

DRUNK MAN #2: Yeah? I just did a bit of blow.

DRUNK MAN #1: Will this work? (He holds up a crossbow.)

DRUNK MAN #2: Sure, that'll work.

END SCENE

FRTSOAE

Oh my god. To what end do I invoke god? The end of describing Fionn Regan's new album, Shadow of an Empire. It's amazing, in an entirely different way than The End of History. For, you see, Mr. Fionn Regan has Bob Dylan'd faster than Mr. Zimmerman himself. I more than anything suggest you look up the song Violent Demeanour. You'll know what I'm talking about. Really though, it's another gem.

Also, a note: Fionn is now the proud owner of an afro. Be warned.

It's Yours and Mine

I was going to post a dream I'd had on here, but looking through my journal I realized that the ones that were good enough were (generally) too good to waste, letting them languish as just dreams. At some point, I am going to rewrite my interesting dreams as pieces of fiction, and see what comes of that. Still, I'll regale you with (what was at least to me) a strange thing that took place in a dream. Rather, it was just the dream itself.

This dream, the contents of which I have very specific plans for, lasted for three entire years. That actual period of dreaming was quite obviously less than that. But I am sure that during the brief time I was dreaming, I lived a very human three years as someone other than myself.

Dreams are such fascinating things, in that they transcend the laws we are bound by in waking life, yet at other times so very strongly reinforce them.

Dreaming is one of my favorite pastimes.

Places Like This

It's strange to me that I'm actually running out of pointless things to say. I would just keep filling up the days with other various works, but on the other side of that I'd like to keep at least SOME of my work unknown until it's published.

I went back over all of my journals and such and discovered that I have over two hundred pages of handwritten material. A large quantity of that is shit, but hey, it's all about the journey. Also, since I've come to Eugene I've used up three ink cartridges for my pen.

My southern gothic fantasy hybrid piece is stuck and has been for some time now. I thought I'd make this a new paragraph because I'm not writing this one by hand, seeing as I plan for it to be substantially longer than any other of my pieces. Four chapters and a prologue does not make a suitable standalone piece.

I am frustrated.

The Dailier Grind

There is now a 60" by 40" poster of Beck on my ceiling. It's awesome. But what's annoying is that I ordered it after I bought a first edition copy of One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish, and that has yet to arrive. And the reason I bought that? It was four dollars. Brevity is clearly present here.

Impermanence (Of Sorts)

Here are some things that have been touched upon this night:
-teeth
-laughter
-people as entities
-entities
-permanence
-music
-divine comedy
-mirrors
-jamming
-having brief moments of (in)sanity
-bodies
-imposing morals on animals
-eyes
-more laughter
-no really, we talked about laughter
-like, had conversations about it
-multiple times