The World Parade

It’s about that time where the internet has gone from entertaining me to making me want to peel skin.

Brooklyn, we go hard.

We only want soft thoughts

I. In a state of hard questions. Of hard days. Hard truths. Hell, even hard-ons, I guess. I guess what I’m saying is that when the lights go off and we place our heads on our pillows, we want to think of soft things. Things that help us drift. We want to feel our limbs weave into the blackness of it.

II. I’ve taken no time to look outside. And I have to walk outside to get in.

III. Today I saw two dead birds, and a dead dog in the road, and my day was shaken. Be careful when driving, for the love of God.

IV. I was reading up on recent deaths and I noticed that the people who seemed to live the longest were quiet artists. Except for the ones who probably drankliver canceror smokedlung cancer.I understand though. Those people were allotted more time, and didn’t feel like it, so they passed it along for us to use. That’s damned fine of them.

V. I made it through college without logging my dyslexia at the disability center.

So

I’m graduating in 3 days. That’s nuts. I’m also looking for new work. Also nuts.

I don’t want to grow up. I might be on here more again. I miss wringing my brain out here, and I need to beef up my writing samples so, Here it goes.

…

Goodnight.

Holy Shit

I have one of these.

Hah. I’m okay.

Puscifer and other things

Semester’s over. Puscifer was fucking fantastic. I want to write a review but I feel like I need more time to soak it in. It was probably top 3 shows in my life, and I’ve seen hundreds of bands live.

I’m somewhere between exhausted and exhilarated.

My Narcissistic Self (A Spontaneous Credo)

I’ve recently started posting again, albeit sporadically, and I’ve lost one old follower and gained 3 new ones. This pleases me because it means that perhaps, I’m doing it right.

I want to be accessible. I want to be heard. I want people to learn something. I want to learn.

I’ve been reflecting a lot about my position in life. I’m geared to graduate with my degree in writing, which means an accredited univeristy has said “yeah alright, they have a 3.0 knowledge or better on the subject of what it means to be a writer.” Despite that fact, I feel like I know so little on English as a whole, much less what it means to be a writer.

I don’t ever want to stop learning

I was speaking to one of my most wonderful writer friends, and I told her tonight:

“I think people who teach writing have some insight to the world that no one else is allowed to know. It’s something they wish they could share, but just can’t.”

I think they do. I hope I get that insight. I’d be alright losing my mind that way. I’d definately not want to lose my mind stealing work from others.

I want to give the credit where credit it due.

Perhaps my honesty is crippling. I work with people who, I’m sure sometimes read some obscure and lost American author from the 70’s and just steal their words. Steal their experience, and others love it. I want my words and experience to be much greater than their. I want to trump it like the end of There Will Be Blood only I will not be finished. I’ll move on to the next one and live out my years in rural China somewhere, getting in touch with my Chi.

I want to live in a town with no California (That’s from Keith Buckley.) It doesn’t make it any less true.

My mind is all a tremble, mostly because I’ve taken two melatonin and I’m fighting passing completely out. I’m glad that people are interested in what I have to say. I want to entertain you and give you fun thoughts to think. Or insightful thoughts to think. Or really, just something that makes your brain’s stomach warm, like winter meals. (I think I’ll be using that line for the upcoming sonnets my form class is making me write).

Thank you, new followers for believing in me. Or not. Either way, I’m pleased we have met.