nostradamus stole my schtick

[thelastpumpkin]

i am jobless.

and as amazing as sleeping at very odd
hours of the day, strumming unintelligibly on a
guitar and playing nintendo gamecube until my
eye sockets are squeezing my eyes like two
over-ripe persimmons sounds, i can no longer
tolerate feeling useless.

you'd think i'd use my empty hours to write.
nope. i tried that and all that came out
was, "i looked out the window of the bus,
number 403 with the picture of the young woman on
the side that reads, "another life saved because of
organ donation." nothing was happening. buildings
were still holding themselves together. cars were still
ending up somewhere different from where they started.
and the people, with their coats buttoned or unbuttoned,
still filled themselves with cold sandwiches and coffee just
to make it another day."

and then it just stopped. i didn't know what this guy
needed after that. he seemed set in life. decided. packaged
and stamped and ready to be purchased for a well balanced
dinner.

i'm hoping my ibook will run away, to somewhere
like greenland, but not that cold, and when it comes
back it will be full of stories. and i can sell those stories
for thousands of dollars and no one will know that i
stole them from a self-animated computer machine.
this will not work.
because 1.)computers can't walk. and 2.)no one would
believe i wrote a story that involved binary code and
and unemotional scene about a dead pony and a dead pony's
dead cat.

ech.