it sort of bubbles on the road... it sticks forever... i hate writing... absolutely hate it... i once wrote in my blog that i couldn't feel worthless about writing... i was wrong... i dont' feel worthless about being human... but writing? yeah... god damn right...

i don't want to be insane... i don't want to want to write... i don't want any of this... i want peace... there are 'creative' people that refuse to take 'drugs' to cure their mental illness because they believe it interferes with their creativity?

so do we make the choice? should we have to make the choice? and in the end is any of it worth it... and in fact, i know for a fact i'm not crazy, nor manic depressive... or at least 'diagnosible' i do know i have an active imagination but do know the difference between reality and the lie... and i try to stay in reality...

richard hugo wrote about writing poetry... "Think small. If you have a big mind that will show itself [to the detriment of the poem]. if you can't think small, try philosophy or social criticism."

christ... that's why i can't write... i can't think in the 'small' i think about the 'huge' bend over me and penentrate me subjects... they want to fornicate because it's not creative to think big... they just want to screw themselves in self-fulfilling masturbation... actually it's' worse than 'masturbation' because there's no release it's some sort of tantric buddhist torture of inserting yourself in every hole with no climax...

and yeah i need start using some other metaphor than sex.
 

I was typing busily away... writing some useless drivel... when i heard
"Stay right there."

So I did.

*pitter patter*

I was so engrossed that I didn't hear much more, until the voice came to me in my ear.

"Now, don't move." my three year old commanded.

*snip, snip*

"What are you doing?" I got up quickly knowing it couldn't be good.

She stood on and leaned back on my computer chair. Her eyes were wide and somewhat defiant, yet pleading.

"You stay there." She commanded once again, her hands behind her back. I turned her around and there she was with her 'safety' but deadly little blue scissors.

"I give you a haircut."

and allllll for freeeee... well except now I have to go pay Franz $60 to do an overhaul... and I get to hear about him fucking his girlfriend...yeah he's NOT gay and he's named Franz...



 

this whole saddam thing has me bothered... it's not so much that i think he should live... i don't... he was a documented mass murderer and tyrant... distrusting and extinguishing anyone who might go against the hegemony... but it's the 'smugness' of people 'drooling' over his execution. i think anyone that 'goulishly' fixates on someone else's demise is sick... twisted... why? because we need to think beyond the 'satisfaction' of seeing revenge enacted... that's why. books have been written about the obsessive nature of people enacting revenge for some personal reason...yet some people seem to fall into the trap of listening to the masses and salivating like the hungry animals we are... in fact, animals are better than us in so many ways... most do not kill for pleasure... only for food or if they are threatened... and it's not 'pleasure' it's instinct... we are one of only a few... who with a so-called higher mind are suppose to 'kill' when only necessary...yet here we are thinking we are superior and better than the animal kingdom...when we sit in front of the executioners and knit are own noose... for in the end, we have fallen right into the hands of the extremists... we have created their jihad... in fact, we are knitting our own grave... peace out.
 

This floated around awhile back via email... anyway, I was reminded of this excellently funny piece because I saw an entry about vanity plates... even though the blog owner *cough* Robert Waltz is an obvious Bush lover and anti-santa rebel rousing instigating person...still have to give him credit for the inspiration of being reminded of someone else's work...or whatever...

OEDIPUS THE KING (OF THE ROAD)
By Daniel Nussbaum. Nussbaum has retold the story of Oedipus using 154 of the more than 1 million California personalized license plates registered with the state's Motor Vehicles Bureau.

ONCEPON ATIME LONG AGO IN THEBES IMKING. OEDIPUS DAKING.
LVMYMRS. LVMYKIDS. THEBENS THINK OEDDY ISCOOL. NOPROBS.
OKAY MAYBE THEREZZ 1LITL1. MOTHER WHERERU? WHEREAT MYDAD?
NOCALLZ NEVER. HAVENOT ACLUE. INMYMIND IWNDER WHOAMI? IMUST
FINDEM.
JO MYWIFE GOES, "OED DONT USEE? WERHAPI NOW LETITB." IGO
"NOWAY. IAMBOSS. DONTU TELLME MYLIFE. INEED MYMOM. II WILLL
FINDHER. FIND BOTHOF THEM."
SOI START SEEKING DATRUTH ABOUT WHO IAM. ITGOEZ ULTRAAA
SLOWE. THE SPHYNXS RIDDLE WAS ACINCH BUT NOTTHIZ.
SUDNLEE WEHEAR SHOCKING NEWS. WHEN IWASA TINY1 THISGR8
4SEER SED IWOOD OFF MY ROYAL OLDMAN THEN MARREE MYMAMA. SICKO
RUBBISH, NESTPAS? WHOWHO COULDBE SOGONE? STIL MOMNDAD SENT
MEEEEE AWAY. MEE ABABI AWAAAY.
NOWWWWW GETTHIZ. MANY MOONS GOBY. IMEET THISGUY ONATRIP.
WEDOO RUMBLE. WHOKNEW? ILEFTMY POP ONE DEDMAN.
UGET DAFOTO. MAJR TSURIS. JOJO MYHONEE, MYSQEEZ, MYLAMBY,
MIAMOR, MYCUTEE. JOJOY IZZ MYMOMMY.
YEGODS WHYMEE? YMEYYME? LIFSUX. IAMBAD, IAMBADD, IMSOBAD.
STOPNOW THIS HEDAKE. THIS FLESH DUZ STINK. ITZ 2MUCH PAYNE 4ONE2C.
TAKEGOD MYEYES!
http://www-chaos.umd.edu/misc/story.html
 

i will no longer put my effort into relationships which are one-sided. I am tired of people taking advantage of my good nature and generosity... soooo screw it... it's not so much that i want reciprocation, as respect for my friendship... i don't give my friendship easily, but those who have it... owe it heart and soul... when i call someone friend... they are through thick and thin... until they abuse it. i take quality over quantity anytime... once you're my friend... going back to acquaintances i can't do... i have acquaintances that are in that role already... they will stay there... but once you've acquired my friendship... no going back... once abused there's no going back.

I have RL friends that are there for me consistently... I have internet friends that are also, but those RL and internet friends who just can't be bothered... i won't either... it aint' worth my effort nor time... this is NOT a cry for attention... it's just a fact... so those who want to become a friend are on alert... and those who have already abused it...

goodbye...
 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Koran

i was discussing the Jewish and Muslim texts with my spouse and indicating that the Koran originated in part from the Torah or Old testament, much like Christianity, and in fact, it just speaks to the ridiculous nature of our present day differences, when in fact that modern western/middle east religion not only originates from one god, but leads to one god... *shrugs* nothing new...

spouse pointed to the wikipedia page referring to the different prophets and said: "Why am I not mentioned there?"

"It mentions God,right?"



i just feed the fantasy for him...

 

and gives you a wet nose...


http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16282622/

at first i thought this was allll about how men are better off with a good sex life...but not soooo there is talk about how women combat depression because of sex... apparently the semen in men gives them some added nutrients and also provides some additional benefits... which made me groan a bit... because does that mean only heterosexual women benefit from sex? but not necessarily they say that 'orgasm' also produces endorphins... but then again a good bout of jogging can do that also....

i think there's got to be something about the 'human' touch in all this... the closeness of co-mingling and swapping bodily fluids with someone you're emotionally in-tune with... can't beat that...

i suppose in actual fact, anyone who enjoys sex can tell you it has health benefits, but then cosmo, and forbes wouldn''t have a over-used tactic to tittilate their readers and neither would i... who loves you baby...
 

i love driving fast because it gives me that whole illusion of unfettered life.

i'm free from work for at least the next couple of weeks...WHOHOOOOO ...of course i don't get paid... but it's still bliss, utter and complete bliss... the upside of being a 'temp' okay not really... a 'contractor' because we can't be called a temp or someone is going to think i'm not worthy of my 'professional' status... i can remember when i 'temped' back before law school and during college years... i thought it was demeaning... being a 'temp' meant no benefits... no respect... low pay... etc... and now my tune has completely changed... because it means more calm...more control... more freedom... more money...and tons of respect... i'm the one that comes in and saves the day... makes the work place bearable for those who are overworked and underpaid... feel a bit like superman... actually someone told me 'i walked on water' shit sometimes it's just great to be me... aren't you'allllll jealous... don't you just want to smack me down because of alllll my happiness and self-confidence.... okay now i'm just getting obnoxious... sorry readers...

anyway... i left behind my interesting office mate... who knew some 'huge' literary figures... he used ot work in the publishing industry... he was funny... he dropped names like bird poop... but he was a nice guy... and interesting... soooo very well educated... told him he had to become a US citizen and vote because we need more of us... more of the educated... smart... telling the present administration that they are a load of crap... anyway, he'll do well at the firm... he's got an ability to be entertaining and knows who to make friends with...

now... i'm on to my 'huge' project... trying to finish this book... get it done...i'm actually really excited about the prospect of getting back into it... full force...

 

i was reading then website that badvoudou sent me in her comments...

http://101reasonstostopwriting.blogspot.com/

for want of a better comparison...it's full of tough love... sometimes i think of my writing as a blob of angst... and yeah that's melodramatic... but so much of it comes from the 'baggage' of life... most writer's are very insecure in general... so i'm not sure if this website is a 'good' place for people who are starting out... although it may help with wiping away some of the illusions... but it won't do much for the feelings of 'despair' that writing tends to surround in one's heart...

anyway, the point of all this? nothing really... except that for me, a writer is someone who doesn't quit... i still have a problem labeling myself as a 'writer' because there are people out there much better than me.in all aspects of this disturbing game, but again for want of something else to call myself... I, like a true writer, won't quit... because my writing comes from a desire.. a deep delving gut twisting sweet releasing orgasm... the voice that wants to be heard...however painful that may be...



 

i used to ride the bus everywhere in san francisco... late at night early in the day... the late at night was when the town turned into 'cirque de soleil' it wasn't so much i felt terror at the ground crawlies... track marked, red nosed, people who sleep in their own urine... but i felt the immediate weakness of me... i knew that it so easily could be me... if i didn't make myself do 'right' will myself to go the straight and narrow... it would've been easy to be the hooker, the herion addict, the hallow eyed self-babbling person who really didn't know where the way out was...

but then again... what if i had?
struck for free
gums bleeding
pull, switch, pitch my head up
then down,
the bridle stripped
naked bride


 

yep... it's angry... "the sea was angry that day my friend, like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli" yes it's a Seinfeld quite... now there's a metaphor that's just 'strange' yes it has an intrique factor but that's about it...but obviously it's funny...because it's sooo out of place. I find writing that tries too hard annoying... and to me the metaphor that means nothing but has the 'intrigue' factor is one of those things that the over educated writer smells of... it follows them around like sewage... okay you see that works because wellll we all know sewage is smelly... of course, it's not particularly original...

lately when i read books by established writers or up and coming writers (typically their second or third book) the writing lacks freshness... it's contrived... and *GASP* pretensious... i mean this though... it lacks spontaneity.. and that would be fine if it actually was also clever... but usually it isn't...just 'stupid' writing...

examples...
'this tastes like the bloodied soul of a depressed aboriginal' okay.. what the hell is that? what does a soul taste like? indeed...who would know...

or this...

'the moment was perfect, like the faded jeans of my teenage years.' okay sooo was this perfect for you? and why is it perfect? was your teenage years perfect? lol... most people's teenage years are full of angst and pimples... now if you'd said "it was full of ridicule like my faded jeans that wouldn't fit over my fat ass during my teenage years" now there you go...funny...to the point... and telling...




** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **