Blue blood and rain
I now consider myself a smoker again. I quit, and not just for three days, for a few weeks. Maybe I got bored and that led to my failure. Maybe. Id like to think that it was a deliberate choice.
I like smoking. So I will. I stand by my claim that I want to be a stupid kid for as long as I can. But I need to keep in mind that some day I'll wake up coughing up blood and I'll no longer be a kid, I'll be old and dying.
I read Leslie's Xanga the other day. It made me jealous. She writes with an eloquence of an opiated Tom. I probably could write that well, God knows I've tried, but it takes far too much effort. I'd rather hint at billiance that I will never reach than walk casualy amongst gods.
Also, my posts are about a bunch of trite shit, even to me. Leslie's may be crap too, but its important to her. I write just to write, for the love of the words, while she writes for a purpose.
___________
Sebastian lifted his languid eyes from the beer he had been nursing to the dance floor. It was a bitter drink and he couldn't understand why people drank it without the purpose of getting drunk. He sipped the nasty drink. He smoked his crushed cigarettes waiting for the last call.
The drunker he got the more the world dissapeared around him, closing him in a shell of just his thoughts and the pounding of the faulty melodies radiating off the dance floor assaulting his sensitive ears. Sebastian was sad. He was hopelessly sad, depressed. He was desperate even, and that was his saving grace. It is impossible to end up at the bottom of the spiral if you still love yourself enough to fight. Put a desperate and weak man in the corner and he will claw and scratch till the flesh falls from the bones.
He came to the Drag to lose himself but found that impossible with cold fear still in his sick belly. He was a man on the edge that did whatever he wanted to attain some sick end but still felt guilty for it.
_______________________
Ive been reading hemmingway. I love him and hate him at the same time. He can write for pages and say nothing, but I love how everything is between the lines and subtle. Thats how I want to write, when Im ready. I want to write my book so bad, but its so big and intimidating. I dont think that I'll be able to do it justice. All the political undertones that I myself dont even understand yet.
It will be a thing of beauty. Ive been writing it and perfecting it in my head for years. Sadly, I find I do my best work drunk out of my skull on rum. Maybe it lowers my inhibitions enough. Maybe it lets me really get into Sebastian's shoes. Sin City told me a good lesson though. Don't halfass the depravity of your characters. Go all in. It will make the heroes more grand and the villans less human. But my story isnt that of black and white, but shades of grey where heroism is only a matter of perspective.
I love Westley. I want to be him. But I see myself now as Sebastian. Not so much since Ive gotten medicated, but still. It probably is a problem to relate with Sebastian so much, considering the extent that I hate him. That bond will make me pull my punches.
Hrmm, CS is getting nuts. Gaetan's baby got killed, now I gotta pony up.
hasta
I like smoking. So I will. I stand by my claim that I want to be a stupid kid for as long as I can. But I need to keep in mind that some day I'll wake up coughing up blood and I'll no longer be a kid, I'll be old and dying.
I read Leslie's Xanga the other day. It made me jealous. She writes with an eloquence of an opiated Tom. I probably could write that well, God knows I've tried, but it takes far too much effort. I'd rather hint at billiance that I will never reach than walk casualy amongst gods.
Also, my posts are about a bunch of trite shit, even to me. Leslie's may be crap too, but its important to her. I write just to write, for the love of the words, while she writes for a purpose.
___________
Sebastian lifted his languid eyes from the beer he had been nursing to the dance floor. It was a bitter drink and he couldn't understand why people drank it without the purpose of getting drunk. He sipped the nasty drink. He smoked his crushed cigarettes waiting for the last call.
The drunker he got the more the world dissapeared around him, closing him in a shell of just his thoughts and the pounding of the faulty melodies radiating off the dance floor assaulting his sensitive ears. Sebastian was sad. He was hopelessly sad, depressed. He was desperate even, and that was his saving grace. It is impossible to end up at the bottom of the spiral if you still love yourself enough to fight. Put a desperate and weak man in the corner and he will claw and scratch till the flesh falls from the bones.
He came to the Drag to lose himself but found that impossible with cold fear still in his sick belly. He was a man on the edge that did whatever he wanted to attain some sick end but still felt guilty for it.
_______________________
Ive been reading hemmingway. I love him and hate him at the same time. He can write for pages and say nothing, but I love how everything is between the lines and subtle. Thats how I want to write, when Im ready. I want to write my book so bad, but its so big and intimidating. I dont think that I'll be able to do it justice. All the political undertones that I myself dont even understand yet.
It will be a thing of beauty. Ive been writing it and perfecting it in my head for years. Sadly, I find I do my best work drunk out of my skull on rum. Maybe it lowers my inhibitions enough. Maybe it lets me really get into Sebastian's shoes. Sin City told me a good lesson though. Don't halfass the depravity of your characters. Go all in. It will make the heroes more grand and the villans less human. But my story isnt that of black and white, but shades of grey where heroism is only a matter of perspective.
I love Westley. I want to be him. But I see myself now as Sebastian. Not so much since Ive gotten medicated, but still. It probably is a problem to relate with Sebastian so much, considering the extent that I hate him. That bond will make me pull my punches.
Hrmm, CS is getting nuts. Gaetan's baby got killed, now I gotta pony up.
hasta