It's the same with love I guess
"You're a real fuckin' upper, you know that?"
I've had a reasonably eventful week, for me. Not some drug-crazed, orgy-ridden amnesiac kind of eventful, but more like a "PTA-normal", phenomenal (for the most part) company, half-mexican leaves black bra on your second bed kind of eventful. I live in a garage. I have two beds. I call them R1 and R2.
So, I skipped work today. I told the sassy old black woman that my sister had been in a horrible car accident. When I reflect, I should have mentioned that she was slipping into a coma, and that I was obligated to take a paid vacation to watch over her. I do stock at Dollar General. I cut boxes for a living and display them in neat rows. I do this with immeasurable pride.
I really have a moderate crush on Priscilla. Sarah notes that I have intense crushes on everyone, but I insist that it's usually just a physical and/or result of convenience. It occurs to me that she will read this. It occurs to me to retract my statement. I more than likely will not, because it has already been writ and who am I to undo anything? I will say instead that I mean what my fingers blurt out.
It occurs to me that I have not done any kind of drug or alcohol in over a month. I am greatly disturbed by this.
I haven't done too much in the way of writing of late, although I have gotten into Kerouac's argument that "the voice is all" and that prose should just be driven out in a shapeless fashion i.e. stream of conciousness. Very fast, thoughtless, that it in some manner shows your soul and inner-mouse on a wheel thoughts. I'm working on a song to articulate the blues; I've got 4 basic chords and I need more and I know that someone can give me some suggestions. I must, must, must create something new or my head will explode in the nausea of mastered strings.
More than anything, I am troubled, hounded even by this lack of momentum....I should set a date to leave here, or a date to do something productive that will set a fire beneath me and get me to my good promised gold place where I will actually ACCOMPLISH something other than greeting and dismissing (goodbye) people, working my minimum wages, wasting time (and waiting for my own nervous breakdown to come).
I feel too comfortable. Everything is good here and I ENJOY it I just want to get a move on so badly.
The idea is that me and Daniel and Priscilla and Sarah of course will see that Jim Carrey movie of such renown maybe tomorrow. I do hope it works out. It would be just too fucking dandy. Alright. Good times. I'm going to sleep now, until all o' these troubles are gone.
I've had a reasonably eventful week, for me. Not some drug-crazed, orgy-ridden amnesiac kind of eventful, but more like a "PTA-normal", phenomenal (for the most part) company, half-mexican leaves black bra on your second bed kind of eventful. I live in a garage. I have two beds. I call them R1 and R2.
So, I skipped work today. I told the sassy old black woman that my sister had been in a horrible car accident. When I reflect, I should have mentioned that she was slipping into a coma, and that I was obligated to take a paid vacation to watch over her. I do stock at Dollar General. I cut boxes for a living and display them in neat rows. I do this with immeasurable pride.
I really have a moderate crush on Priscilla. Sarah notes that I have intense crushes on everyone, but I insist that it's usually just a physical and/or result of convenience. It occurs to me that she will read this. It occurs to me to retract my statement. I more than likely will not, because it has already been writ and who am I to undo anything? I will say instead that I mean what my fingers blurt out.
It occurs to me that I have not done any kind of drug or alcohol in over a month. I am greatly disturbed by this.
I haven't done too much in the way of writing of late, although I have gotten into Kerouac's argument that "the voice is all" and that prose should just be driven out in a shapeless fashion i.e. stream of conciousness. Very fast, thoughtless, that it in some manner shows your soul and inner-mouse on a wheel thoughts. I'm working on a song to articulate the blues; I've got 4 basic chords and I need more and I know that someone can give me some suggestions. I must, must, must create something new or my head will explode in the nausea of mastered strings.
More than anything, I am troubled, hounded even by this lack of momentum....I should set a date to leave here, or a date to do something productive that will set a fire beneath me and get me to my good promised gold place where I will actually ACCOMPLISH something other than greeting and dismissing (goodbye) people, working my minimum wages, wasting time (and waiting for my own nervous breakdown to come).
I feel too comfortable. Everything is good here and I ENJOY it I just want to get a move on so badly.
The idea is that me and Daniel and Priscilla and Sarah of course will see that Jim Carrey movie of such renown maybe tomorrow. I do hope it works out. It would be just too fucking dandy. Alright. Good times. I'm going to sleep now, until all o' these troubles are gone.