Stream of Consciousness
Very Important Conversation:
Ashlee: kekekekeke
Kyle: tehehehehehehehe ::giggle::
Ashlee: *blush*
Kyle: ::chuckle::
Ashlee: *falls over dead due to arsenic poisoning*
Kyle: uhhhhhh
Ashlee: got you
Ashlee: i'm not really dead
********************************************************************
Anyway, I watched a movie today about a mentally ill writer from New Zealand. It was rather interesting, and made me realize that sometimes pain is necessary in order to create great art. It seemed to me that her character wanted to remain ill and detached from the rest of the world, it helped her to create. Is alienation essential to the artist? This has always been a question I have tossed around. Lately I can't write so much as a quick poem, let alone a story. I wonder when some inspiration will strike me... or if it will at all. Can I force inspiration?
Being a successful writer is like winning the lotto I imagine.
I should write comedy... I would probably be good at that. Ever since I was little, I've wanted to work on The Simpsons. However, When I sit down to write, all I can turn out are these odd, quirky and depressing stories... such a cliche college student *shudders*.
I hate food coloring. I'm going to have to admit that it's one of my phobias. It creeps me out... although if I don't think about it, I find myself eating all sorts of artificially dyed food stuffs. Heck, everything is probably dyed. Fuckers.
I don't know what I'm talking about. I'm tired and I feel like talking about nonsense... why would I write anything of value on here?
This week has flown by. I haven't done much, partly because I have been so tired! I feel like I ran a marathon I wasn't aware of. Maybe I did. I think I must do weird things in my sleep. Once I told my aunt all about a purple elephant with spots while I was asleep. Given the time this occured, it's a good thing I didn't devulge one of my risque pre-pubescent fantasies. Nope. I stuck to plain, simple spotted elephants of the purple persuasion. Nothing tricky about that. Laughable, silly... certainly not incriminating.
I need new music. I've been bored of everything lately but classical music. I find myself very dissapointed in how little music I actually own as opposed to how much I wish I had. I have no money. I need money. I hate money. I want money only so I can fulfill all of the things that call for it in my head. Travel. Music. Moving Out... so on. I'm going to start bartering shells and shiny rocks, see how that goes over. I had a dream the other night in which I paid for an entire basket full of wheat gluten in return for 2 Pringles. I think this dream might have some merit.
If I don't stop writing I'm going to punch myself in the face. I've done that before, it doesn't feel good.
Ashlee: kekekekeke
Kyle: tehehehehehehehe ::giggle::
Ashlee: *blush*
Kyle: ::chuckle::
Ashlee: *falls over dead due to arsenic poisoning*
Kyle: uhhhhhh
Ashlee: got you
Ashlee: i'm not really dead
********************************************************************
Anyway, I watched a movie today about a mentally ill writer from New Zealand. It was rather interesting, and made me realize that sometimes pain is necessary in order to create great art. It seemed to me that her character wanted to remain ill and detached from the rest of the world, it helped her to create. Is alienation essential to the artist? This has always been a question I have tossed around. Lately I can't write so much as a quick poem, let alone a story. I wonder when some inspiration will strike me... or if it will at all. Can I force inspiration?
Being a successful writer is like winning the lotto I imagine.
I should write comedy... I would probably be good at that. Ever since I was little, I've wanted to work on The Simpsons. However, When I sit down to write, all I can turn out are these odd, quirky and depressing stories... such a cliche college student *shudders*.
I hate food coloring. I'm going to have to admit that it's one of my phobias. It creeps me out... although if I don't think about it, I find myself eating all sorts of artificially dyed food stuffs. Heck, everything is probably dyed. Fuckers.
I don't know what I'm talking about. I'm tired and I feel like talking about nonsense... why would I write anything of value on here?
This week has flown by. I haven't done much, partly because I have been so tired! I feel like I ran a marathon I wasn't aware of. Maybe I did. I think I must do weird things in my sleep. Once I told my aunt all about a purple elephant with spots while I was asleep. Given the time this occured, it's a good thing I didn't devulge one of my risque pre-pubescent fantasies. Nope. I stuck to plain, simple spotted elephants of the purple persuasion. Nothing tricky about that. Laughable, silly... certainly not incriminating.
I need new music. I've been bored of everything lately but classical music. I find myself very dissapointed in how little music I actually own as opposed to how much I wish I had. I have no money. I need money. I hate money. I want money only so I can fulfill all of the things that call for it in my head. Travel. Music. Moving Out... so on. I'm going to start bartering shells and shiny rocks, see how that goes over. I had a dream the other night in which I paid for an entire basket full of wheat gluten in return for 2 Pringles. I think this dream might have some merit.
If I don't stop writing I'm going to punch myself in the face. I've done that before, it doesn't feel good.