Sunday, March 28, 2010

Evacuate the lancefloor

Im sorry blogga. I never meant to hurt you

translation: i haven't posted in a few days. which is bad. because i know that if i don't consistently make you happy, you'll be more ruthless to me than refs are to whoever Duke is playing against.

so tonight, i'm cleaning out my closet.

translation: im pressed for time tonight, so i won't be able to crank out the usual pseudo brilliance that is produced 5.3 times a week at this really cool web address. thus, i'm hitting up the archives.

Below is an excerpt from a shortish story i wrote one time. Its kind of weird, so proceed at your own risk.

actually don't proceed at your own risk. that's a cop out. you are only allowed to do that if your name is tracy morgan.

Tell me when to go:

The cornfield

Thoughts. Run on a page like Forrest Gump. What are these thoughts about? Anything? Nothing? Everything? Hopefully the third, as that would make a pretty good bagel. Cream cheese of course. More importantly though, what is going on?

Yes that question is overly general. General to the point that I don’t even know what im saying. Though I have no idea what im saying half the time anyway. Words are funny when you think about them. Who made them up? Human speech, what a funny thing. Today I asked my girlfriend, how was your day? You know how she responded? You may be thinking, how the fuck should I know? But the sad part is, you already do know, because it’s the way every single fucking human on the planet responds to that question. She said, and I quote “it was good.”

If I didn’t carry on the conversation, I actually would have no idea how her day was, because ‘good’ is kind of like an automatic response. I mean, good could be coded for ‘great, I got a promotion.’ That is pretty good, if you base your happiness on money. Ill get to that later, but money is pretty much the most underratedly overrated thing ever. Anyway, her response also could have been coded for, ‘I just had the crappiest day in all of eternity, but I don’t want you to be bummed out about it so ill just wait until we keep talking to actually let you know how shitty it was.” Sometimes I wonder why I even bother asking that question. Though I usually genuinely care about the response, it never actually does anything to enhance the conversation. Damn, people are confusing. I mean, just look at how I’m writing.

Stream of consciousness. Short and to the point. My mind wanders, kind of like the Olympic torch. No time to stay and hang out in one place. I’ll wake up in Portland, take in the douglas firs or whatever the fuck things are in Portland (forgive me Oregonians, Im an ignorant New Yorker), then run on into wherever else my mind takes me. And I have no agency over my mind. Its kind of scary when you think about it. But so are the Saw movies, and they’ve made like seven of those. So I guess I can’t complain too much.

You know how I started writing this thrill of a story? Sheer frustration. And yes, the usage of the word sheer was absolutely necessary. It added some direction or purpose to the phrase. If I just said frustration, you may not have considered it as strong. Think about it in terms of flavor enhancement. I add salt to the potato, and suddenly it is incredibly more appealing. Now people will actually pay attention to it and eat it. Why? Because the potato was enhanced with salt, just as frustration was enhanced with sheer. Damn, im using the word enhanced a lot. Just to clarify, I don’t work for Viagra.

So back to the point. You’re probably wondering by now, is there even a point? Is this a story or something? I mean I could make it one. I feel like im a pretty good writer if I want to be. You would be entertained, even though my name isn’t cedric. But I already stated the problem. Its if I want to be. Getting motivated for any intellectualish mind stimulating thing is almost impossible these days. Which really sucks, cause I feel like theres so much in my head I want to cultivate. Its like my mind is a cornfield that hasn’t been harvested yet. The winter is coming, so the farmer has to hastily get as many crops as he can. But since the farmer is under pressure by the man to get as many crops as he can to make a profit so he can have pay mortgage on his house so that he has shelter that he could provide for his family so that they don’t leave him or better yet get sick and need a hospital but they don’t have healthcare so they have to go to the city and beg for money but then are ridiculed by the preppy well-to do young folk in the city who could throw around as much money as possible to give the farmers family enough money for healthcare but choose not to because they are afraid of the farmer and his family because they are different and therefore don’t fit in with society and since they don’t fit in with society they young folk in the city won’t dare to approach them because then their friends will talk that they are hanging out with a strange crowd and then their reputation is crushed and they are sad so they go buy drugs with their money that they could be giving to the farmer and his family and proceed to live a life of excess and little direction and pretend they are on gossip girl instead of actually making a difference in the world, the farmer could not actually treat each and every crop with the attention it deserves for full and proper cultivation. You should probably read that again, because im sure you got it all down the first time. Not. Hey look, now im borat. That’s what I was talking about with the mind wandering thing.

So in a nutshell, that’s where I feel like my mind is at. So pop open the pistachio, cause im just getting started.

But don’t get me wrong, gossip girl is a great show.

wow, that kid's a weirdo.....

i'll get back to the real stuff if work permits.

if you got that reference, high five.

song of the day

damned if i do ya (damned if i don't): all time low

p.s: comment, you scaredy cats