Ladies and Gentlemen, we are floating in space.
Somebody spoke.
And I went into a dream.
I sometimes find myself in these writing moods, but it is not often that I feel a great sense of my own humanity. Yet, I have never had both moods come to me at once. It is a rare and unique opportunity, and I feel I should take advantage of it. The possibility of this entry making little to no sense is a very real threat, but many of you have bared with me in the past, and I assume that you may do so now.
I feel human.
Which is something I do not feel a majority of the time. Certainly never at four o' clock in the morning, while smoking cigarettes and contemplating sleep. Usually my senses of my humanity come at times that are unique and beautiful... Perhaps a better way to explain it is: Everything around me is a miracle to me. The fact that life exist, that emotions flourish, that life continues, and the way that it is presented is, to me, beautiful. I feel this way every day of my life... but I think of it as the beauty I find in a great work of art. The kind of art which you could stare at for hours, simply amazed by it's existence, and it's ability to make everything around it seem drab and meaningless. But that picture is not real, it's only paint and canvas. It is at these small moments that I suddenly realize that the beauty of this world is not a false picture, but a reality, and that I am a part of that.
A muddled explanation, I know. It's impossible to describe without seeming silly or idealistic, and it's certainly difficult to explain any abstract like the one I have attempted to describe to you. It's hard for anyone. Try to describe what love is. People have done it since the beginning of time, writing of it, speaking of it, trying to explain to the world what love is. It seems no one has found that perfect definition. "A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness?" Webster is cold and harsh upon love. I consider it a sin to even attempt to compress it's meaning into something as inadequate as a sentence.
And perhaps it is a sin to place it into one, tiny word.
But what else are we to do with it?
I need to segway here, and move from abstract to history. Yet, as always, I have not updated in so long that I have forgotten the many things that occurred in the past month or so. I have started my new job, under the command of the great, wise, and all-powerful Tuh Azzip. This new employment, in which I bring flat, circular foodstuffs to the lazy, has provided me with something I've been aching to have for months: Spending Money. Yes, this job provides money, as jobs are wot to do. But beware, for with this influx of cash comes a new terror, one greater than the horrors of The Mooching Dan. It is that of The Dan Who Is Really Fucking Late With This Pizza Oh Fuck Go Faster Goddamn Traffic I'm Never Getting A Tip On This Run Fuck It I'll Just Drive On The Side Walk. Fear him, for he is a creature of vehicular irresponsibility.
Still, money is good. And it may come in handy in the coming summer months, as there is the possibility of possibly, ACTUALLY, FINALLY moving out of the house. From the safety of my home, I would go to the deep, impenetrable jungles of where-ever Ursula and Keegan deem cheap and feasible. Of course, like all the other times that I almost escaped Green Acres Clermont, this will probably not happen. Why? Because they have chosen to test me first. They have chosen to have a "trial period", in which I will live there for a week, and following the end of that week, I will receive a report card that decides whether I shall ever share an apartment with them.
Yes, I'm fucked. For sharing living space with me is similar to sharing living space with a dead bear. The bear smells awful, takes up way too much space, and at any moment, could unexpectedly come to life and maul you with it's scary bear claws.
Speaking of Ursula, since she managed to be absent in her description of the Friday the 13th ORAMA, I shall do my best to shape the English language in such a way to give it justice. Also, pay the Ursula Kate no mind. She's just trying to shorten her entries in order to get more comments.
Where was I?
Yes. Jason. You should have been watching him. He died because you weren't paying attention. I enjoy the fuck out of some Friday the 13th, although I'll readily admit I enjoy the Nightmare on Elm Street films a bit more. On this night, there were four brave souls: Keegan, Ursula Kate, Fuchs, and this man, but not a sober soul among them.
Bzzzzzzzzzzt.
Our test pilots are now lost in space. Commence operation "Ice Cream Bar". I commend Ursula Kate on this one, for the ice cream bar she presented to the hungry movie watchers was that of pure bliss. Strawberry, Vanilla, Caramel, Chocolate of all kinds, whipped cream, RAAAAIIIIINBOOOOOOOW jimmies. Many a bowl was used that day. When the lights went low, the films began, and we flew threw the night enjoying the sight of countless teenage delinquents getting chopped, hacked, sliced, stabbed, and every possible verb that can be used when speaking of a machete in the hands of the Vorhees family.
If you have noticed my attempt to keep calling our much beloved hippie by the name of "Ursula Kate", it is a futile attempt to give her a name that she would rather be called by. Sadly, all attempts to change her name from the standard "Ursula" has resulted in the undesirable shortening of that name to a simple "Urs", which, as I understand, does not appeal. But, who knows? Perhaps "Ursula Kate" will catch on if I start using it enough, although saying it is still an effort. In other news, Keegan seems to be quite happy being called "Keegan". Any attempt to change her name may result in chest pain, cramps, headaches, nose bleeds, irritation of the eyes, athletes foot, or occasional irregularity.
I have written much and said little, but it is enough for me tonight.
If Devin's Mom is reading this: "I'm sorry it wasn't funnier."
And when I left
I left to a dream
And I went into a dream.
I sometimes find myself in these writing moods, but it is not often that I feel a great sense of my own humanity. Yet, I have never had both moods come to me at once. It is a rare and unique opportunity, and I feel I should take advantage of it. The possibility of this entry making little to no sense is a very real threat, but many of you have bared with me in the past, and I assume that you may do so now.
I feel human.
Which is something I do not feel a majority of the time. Certainly never at four o' clock in the morning, while smoking cigarettes and contemplating sleep. Usually my senses of my humanity come at times that are unique and beautiful... Perhaps a better way to explain it is: Everything around me is a miracle to me. The fact that life exist, that emotions flourish, that life continues, and the way that it is presented is, to me, beautiful. I feel this way every day of my life... but I think of it as the beauty I find in a great work of art. The kind of art which you could stare at for hours, simply amazed by it's existence, and it's ability to make everything around it seem drab and meaningless. But that picture is not real, it's only paint and canvas. It is at these small moments that I suddenly realize that the beauty of this world is not a false picture, but a reality, and that I am a part of that.
A muddled explanation, I know. It's impossible to describe without seeming silly or idealistic, and it's certainly difficult to explain any abstract like the one I have attempted to describe to you. It's hard for anyone. Try to describe what love is. People have done it since the beginning of time, writing of it, speaking of it, trying to explain to the world what love is. It seems no one has found that perfect definition. "A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness?" Webster is cold and harsh upon love. I consider it a sin to even attempt to compress it's meaning into something as inadequate as a sentence.
And perhaps it is a sin to place it into one, tiny word.
But what else are we to do with it?
I need to segway here, and move from abstract to history. Yet, as always, I have not updated in so long that I have forgotten the many things that occurred in the past month or so. I have started my new job, under the command of the great, wise, and all-powerful Tuh Azzip. This new employment, in which I bring flat, circular foodstuffs to the lazy, has provided me with something I've been aching to have for months: Spending Money. Yes, this job provides money, as jobs are wot to do. But beware, for with this influx of cash comes a new terror, one greater than the horrors of The Mooching Dan. It is that of The Dan Who Is Really Fucking Late With This Pizza Oh Fuck Go Faster Goddamn Traffic I'm Never Getting A Tip On This Run Fuck It I'll Just Drive On The Side Walk. Fear him, for he is a creature of vehicular irresponsibility.
Still, money is good. And it may come in handy in the coming summer months, as there is the possibility of possibly, ACTUALLY, FINALLY moving out of the house. From the safety of my home, I would go to the deep, impenetrable jungles of where-ever Ursula and Keegan deem cheap and feasible. Of course, like all the other times that I almost escaped Green Acres Clermont, this will probably not happen. Why? Because they have chosen to test me first. They have chosen to have a "trial period", in which I will live there for a week, and following the end of that week, I will receive a report card that decides whether I shall ever share an apartment with them.
Yes, I'm fucked. For sharing living space with me is similar to sharing living space with a dead bear. The bear smells awful, takes up way too much space, and at any moment, could unexpectedly come to life and maul you with it's scary bear claws.
Speaking of Ursula, since she managed to be absent in her description of the Friday the 13th ORAMA, I shall do my best to shape the English language in such a way to give it justice. Also, pay the Ursula Kate no mind. She's just trying to shorten her entries in order to get more comments.
Where was I?
Yes. Jason. You should have been watching him. He died because you weren't paying attention. I enjoy the fuck out of some Friday the 13th, although I'll readily admit I enjoy the Nightmare on Elm Street films a bit more. On this night, there were four brave souls: Keegan, Ursula Kate, Fuchs, and this man, but not a sober soul among them.
Bzzzzzzzzzzt.
Our test pilots are now lost in space. Commence operation "Ice Cream Bar". I commend Ursula Kate on this one, for the ice cream bar she presented to the hungry movie watchers was that of pure bliss. Strawberry, Vanilla, Caramel, Chocolate of all kinds, whipped cream, RAAAAIIIIINBOOOOOOOW jimmies. Many a bowl was used that day. When the lights went low, the films began, and we flew threw the night enjoying the sight of countless teenage delinquents getting chopped, hacked, sliced, stabbed, and every possible verb that can be used when speaking of a machete in the hands of the Vorhees family.
If you have noticed my attempt to keep calling our much beloved hippie by the name of "Ursula Kate", it is a futile attempt to give her a name that she would rather be called by. Sadly, all attempts to change her name from the standard "Ursula" has resulted in the undesirable shortening of that name to a simple "Urs", which, as I understand, does not appeal. But, who knows? Perhaps "Ursula Kate" will catch on if I start using it enough, although saying it is still an effort. In other news, Keegan seems to be quite happy being called "Keegan". Any attempt to change her name may result in chest pain, cramps, headaches, nose bleeds, irritation of the eyes, athletes foot, or occasional irregularity.
I have written much and said little, but it is enough for me tonight.
If Devin's Mom is reading this: "I'm sorry it wasn't funnier."
And when I left
I left to a dream