What have i done?
dear Mr Apathy,
i am in the desert of the mind, and i'm dying of thirst.
yet again i've stretch out feelings. now i can't trust my actions and motives. like the rush of wind through the trees, i turn, and bow, and breeze around not knowing the thoughts of others, but knowing my thoughts. i don't trust me, i don't even like the guy. who the hell does he think he is, that gary, always bumming off of someone, eyes pleading for a bit of a helping hand. does he thinks that his jesus is gonna show up one day and pick him up, dust off his shoulders and finally say those words he's been drying inside for years to hear?
"just breathe, it's ok, it's always been ok, and if you just let it out, you'll stop hurting"
fuck it ain't gonna happen. as far as he can tell, there is no hope. no love. no christ. no one is there. only sand, and wind, and despair.
any physical acts he might turn to are shallow, and don't help one single iota. they'll just make him look selfish and childish and foolish. but he needs help. he crying, SCREAMING, but no one can hear him.
that's why it has been decided what will happen to this miserable gary character, may 17th.
in other news, i have a full plot outline now for The Passage, and now must try to write some chapters and deepen the characters. i'll start with the most important parts: the climax and ending. i actually have several endings playing out in my mind, so i have to explore all of them, and then simply lead up to those events. trust me when i say i am bristling with excitement.
so from melodrama, to fiction, to science.
some species of butterflies have no mouths. their entire adult life is only long enough to mate, and then starve to death.
sincerly,
Mr Melancholy
i am in the desert of the mind, and i'm dying of thirst.
yet again i've stretch out feelings. now i can't trust my actions and motives. like the rush of wind through the trees, i turn, and bow, and breeze around not knowing the thoughts of others, but knowing my thoughts. i don't trust me, i don't even like the guy. who the hell does he think he is, that gary, always bumming off of someone, eyes pleading for a bit of a helping hand. does he thinks that his jesus is gonna show up one day and pick him up, dust off his shoulders and finally say those words he's been drying inside for years to hear?
"just breathe, it's ok, it's always been ok, and if you just let it out, you'll stop hurting"
fuck it ain't gonna happen. as far as he can tell, there is no hope. no love. no christ. no one is there. only sand, and wind, and despair.
any physical acts he might turn to are shallow, and don't help one single iota. they'll just make him look selfish and childish and foolish. but he needs help. he crying, SCREAMING, but no one can hear him.
that's why it has been decided what will happen to this miserable gary character, may 17th.
in other news, i have a full plot outline now for The Passage, and now must try to write some chapters and deepen the characters. i'll start with the most important parts: the climax and ending. i actually have several endings playing out in my mind, so i have to explore all of them, and then simply lead up to those events. trust me when i say i am bristling with excitement.
so from melodrama, to fiction, to science.
some species of butterflies have no mouths. their entire adult life is only long enough to mate, and then starve to death.
sincerly,
Mr Melancholy