(no subject)
wooahh lawdy, pick a bail a cot'n, wooahh lawdy, pick a bail a hay.
well, here i am again. all the time i'm here. right here. with me. always. i s'pose that's one of those things. acourse, everyone knows it. not even worth saying, really. 'cept i didn't have anything better to say at the time, just as i don't now.
i wish i could get something new in my head. something workable. not "what would have happened if the asians discovered america before the europeans did?" cuz that's a whole lot of riff raff. PULP. is what it is. and PULP is almost always the enemy. nickel novel stuff. bunk. i'd rather be a homeless couldabin than a rich shouldnabin.
murders would be nice. if i could write murders. i've written one, it was a nice little diddy, but i didn't quite make it sing. it was just a sort of.... it was done. a child murderer is always the most frightening. especially murder as a curiosity rather than an act of aggression. like poor old mary bell. poor little mary bell. "i wanted to make him baldy." drugged and abused, she saw sadism as a sort of sport, and engaged in it not with cruelty, but with a sort of giddy "i'm mommy now" sense of pretending to be a grown-up. at ten, she killed two young boys, vandalized her school. she has since changed her name and is living free in the uk, presumably. i wish her the best. and would like to somehow do justice to her story without exploiting her, however, i don't think my teeth are sharp enough yet. it's just a matter of time.
in the meantime, i have nothing to write.
so, i guess i'll continue to "pen" strings of things, word upon word, painting a funny sort of picture that tries to capture something without revealing it. i don't know. i can't tell what i want to tell people. should i be enigmatic and let you do what you will with what i write, or should i write in stone what i'm writing about. should it morph? i don't know. i suppose i'll just let happen what will. let it do it's thing "trust the gush" as my favorite fella told me to.
YOU'RE AHN ERT!!!! DARE'S NO KYOR FOR DAT!!!!
well, here i am again. all the time i'm here. right here. with me. always. i s'pose that's one of those things. acourse, everyone knows it. not even worth saying, really. 'cept i didn't have anything better to say at the time, just as i don't now.
i wish i could get something new in my head. something workable. not "what would have happened if the asians discovered america before the europeans did?" cuz that's a whole lot of riff raff. PULP. is what it is. and PULP is almost always the enemy. nickel novel stuff. bunk. i'd rather be a homeless couldabin than a rich shouldnabin.
murders would be nice. if i could write murders. i've written one, it was a nice little diddy, but i didn't quite make it sing. it was just a sort of.... it was done. a child murderer is always the most frightening. especially murder as a curiosity rather than an act of aggression. like poor old mary bell. poor little mary bell. "i wanted to make him baldy." drugged and abused, she saw sadism as a sort of sport, and engaged in it not with cruelty, but with a sort of giddy "i'm mommy now" sense of pretending to be a grown-up. at ten, she killed two young boys, vandalized her school. she has since changed her name and is living free in the uk, presumably. i wish her the best. and would like to somehow do justice to her story without exploiting her, however, i don't think my teeth are sharp enough yet. it's just a matter of time.
in the meantime, i have nothing to write.
so, i guess i'll continue to "pen" strings of things, word upon word, painting a funny sort of picture that tries to capture something without revealing it. i don't know. i can't tell what i want to tell people. should i be enigmatic and let you do what you will with what i write, or should i write in stone what i'm writing about. should it morph? i don't know. i suppose i'll just let happen what will. let it do it's thing "trust the gush" as my favorite fella told me to.
YOU'RE AHN ERT!!!! DARE'S NO KYOR FOR DAT!!!!