(no subject)
Looking at the Armando thing and realising that somewhere along the line, you failed to close your metaphor or even attach it to the body of the narrative. Just going from desert dust to piss and turps to burning down a brothel in the desert. And non sequitur may be a stylistic tick of yours, but it really doesn't work.. since you never articulated how you got there.
Underground sex party fliers need to be mentioned before Armando memorises them and the Bookman disposes of it in a typical and brutal manner. Just like he disposes of any other inconvenient business that the Iguanas might have.
And all your writing right now is probably just adding to the fucked-up mess.
Trying to explain particle physics drunk, 'cept I don't even get drunk, something to do with a small pharmacy stalking the brane and the way your eyes bleed into the keyboard.
I can see it, I understand it... I hate it when the brane misfires and I everything is fluffy and simple and inarticulate, but when the pain is there and I'm actually "home"... *wibble* it's just so much worse. [hell, it's a bit like one of the Ghost Boxes shorts in Astonishing X-Men where Hank ends up like a six year old unable to understand the horror unfolding around him and writing plans and solutions is crayon as he half remembers being smart enough to change the world...] And that is me making all these smart conclusions and still fucking burning in here. There's me and the pain and all those fun extras like missing words and...
Can we just say this is getting to me a bit? [I'd like last week back pls]
Underground sex party fliers need to be mentioned before Armando memorises them and the Bookman disposes of it in a typical and brutal manner. Just like he disposes of any other inconvenient business that the Iguanas might have.
And all your writing right now is probably just adding to the fucked-up mess.
Trying to explain particle physics drunk, 'cept I don't even get drunk, something to do with a small pharmacy stalking the brane and the way your eyes bleed into the keyboard.
I can see it, I understand it... I hate it when the brane misfires and I everything is fluffy and simple and inarticulate, but when the pain is there and I'm actually "home"... *wibble* it's just so much worse. [hell, it's a bit like one of the Ghost Boxes shorts in Astonishing X-Men where Hank ends up like a six year old unable to understand the horror unfolding around him and writing plans and solutions is crayon as he half remembers being smart enough to change the world...] And that is me making all these smart conclusions and still fucking burning in here. There's me and the pain and all those fun extras like missing words and...
Can we just say this is getting to me a bit? [I'd like last week back pls]