From Wit's End, Where Bullshit Serves As Currency.

I could write a book, publish and print it, maybe even sell a few copies, just to tell you about what's taken place since the last post. But since I'd rather deal with it than write [whine] about it, and you'd rather laugh about [be ignorant of] it, I decided to leave that out of this scribble.

Really the only good news to come out of this week is that I did start writing again...No, not this bullshit, but actual writing, on a story I started a few years ago. Yea, I wrote about thirty pages worth of nonsense and sent it to an agent, who sent it to a publishing company, who had someone call me, and tell me that they loved the first thrity pages, and would be very interested in receiving the rest.

I've finally gone back to it, just didn't have the feeling for a while, and to write when you don't have that feeling, to me, is like the pope taking a shit in church on Sunday and lighting a candle in it :-). Ya can't cheapen or lie in what you write, or at least, I can't, and I don't think the rest of you should. Talk is cheap, mainly because it was meant to be...Writing should be worth more though, simply because writing takes more time, more thought, more preparation...If you do it right, and you respect the craft, you won't ever write over ninety percent of the things you would actually say.

Yea, but, I've started in again on the old storry, making corrections, writing some new material...They still want it, the publishing company I mean...They swear they've never read or heard anything like it, and they see the concept, language, and style as money in their pocket. I don't give a shit where the money goes, if there is any, I'd just like to see it in print someday. People who write because it's what they want to do, they don't do it to get paid. That thought never crosses their mind. They write, because if they do not, they lose sleep and so much more, every day, until they finally reach the last page.

But I can't expect anyone else to understand that, I mean, who write anymore, really? In a day and age where they can hear you hiccup from a mile away and match the sound to you, looking up your life story, who writes anymore, for that reason? I do, most authors are pushed along by a paycheck nowadays, that's why most of what you'll pick up and read is truly shit. It's not that the author's not capable of giving you something that really shakes your shit up, it's that they've become machines, printing out pages for the publisher right and left without really caring to look over what's on them first.

I, or rather, my book, when it's finished, and if it's published/printed, will not have anything inn common with the book next to it on the shelf, or the book six aisles down...Contemporary Fiction is in need of a wake up call. My book, when it's finished, will be just that. The trick to making truly incredible fiction is, there has to be at least some truth at the very heart of it. Too many authors have either forgotten that, or been drawn away from it by dollar signs. I'm not doing it for money, never was, so, I have high hopes, at least, for my book.

"What the hell?"

Some of us say it when we can't find our keys in the morning. Some of us say it when we're looking at something we can't understand...And a few of us say it just before we step into a situation we know we should probably avoid. But for one reason or another, that little tiny voive inside speaks up just as you're about to move out of harms way and says something like: "If you walk away now, what does that make you?"

So you say to yourself, 'what the hell', and then you turn around and go through the agony that two seconds before you had been smart enough, and quick enough to avoid. That's what happened to me last night.

There was a bonfire, it was late, just me and a handful of friends sitting around talking about nothing much. Then one of them starts to get in a spat with her boyfriend [which none of us liked from the start, mind you]. It gets good and heated and I stand up at some point and ask him to take it easy. So he shoves his thumb in his mouth and blows to puff up his chest [yea, I know, but he really did that] and then he tells me to go fuck myself. Not wanting to make something out of nearly nothing, I said 'okay, sure, but you get to clean up the mess.' And I started to walk toward the car, to go home. I was about halfway to the car when I heard it, and that's why I stopped.

She had told him what he was for causing me to leave [something terribly derogatory, I'm sure] and his response to that was to smack her. Now I don't like to fight, mostly because all it does is hurt, no matter who wins. But like the jackass I am, I turned around and asked him if he's like to try that again, only, on someone his own size for a change. Now, remember, we're all huddled around a decent bonfire at this point.

So what does he do? Kicks a smoldering bunch of ash and hot coals right up into my eyes, and then bullrushes me and drops me right there on the grass. You see, this was just the sort of thing I knew I would avoid by heading to the car. Just the sort of thing I knew I could expect the moment I turned around.

Long story short, he's in the hospital for another few days, and I'm half blind and dealing with burns everywhere. Now, they'll reset his nose, stitch up those cuts, and have him up and around by tomorrow night I'm sure. So did I prove anything, did I solve anything at all by turning around? No. Would I do it again? Most likely. Why? Because, 'what the hell?' Why not? What is there to lose that doesn't get taken away by life and or age at some point anyway? Not a goddamn thing, that's what.

"Puppet Show Of Memory."

I assume you read the title, could care less if you understand it or not though, haha, sorry. But that's what life really is, isn't it? Everything that'll happen to you tomorrow has probably happened to you or someone else before. So in a way, everything you think, say, or do is out of memory, maybe not yours, bot someone's, somewhere. And if you are not the original person, if you're not the genuine article, if you're just bouncing along the beaten path, you're a puppet, sorry to say. Somebody else has already been there and done that, and now they're pulling the strings as you make your way along their tracks.

I think it's gross, it makes me sick. How can so many of you be so afraid to step out of the grooves and seek out for yourselves? What the hell has happened to the human race? This is our planet, remember? We're at the top of the food chain after all. This is your life, remember? Who cares where or what it came from, you're living it now and it's up to you to make it worth your while.

Push away from whats been seen and done before, a thousand times or more and write a new page, a new chapter in the great book of life and put your own, personal stamp on it. Not because it's profitable, or probable, or easy, or comfortable, or expected, or planned, or respected...Put your stamp or your stain on this life because you honestly believe that you deserve to do that.

I'm outta here.

"Dammit..."

Wet snow, or sleet, as it is know by those over-dressed newscasters, came down on me here today. It was cold, and wet, and uncomfortable with a capital "U". On top of that, anything and everything that seemed promising when I fist got back home has caved in on me in a big way, so right about now, I'm feeling like a pile of shit that knows it's out of place.

I didn't risk everything I am or was, I didn't say "fuck you" to the life I had as I turned and walked away from it for this...I was told, by more than enough people that there would be more to this once I got here...And now that I am here, I find that there is nothing, absolutely nothing here for me at all.

Once again, one more, I gave up something for nothing. I trusted people, and it got me nothing, once again. How many times is that going to happen, how many times does it have to happen before I realize that anything and everything that could ever come out of a person's mouth is a lie?

I am upset with myself, 'cause I keep trying to see the best in everyone even when I know it's not there. I'm upset with everyone who's ever said on word to me, because every word, every syllable that's ever come out of anyone's mouth, intended for me, has been in whole, or in part, a lie.

Tell ya what guys, I quit, alright? I'm done. I give up, on all of you, because out of the hundreds of you I've met so far, not one of you has done or said anything to show me that you give a shit. So why should I? Tell me? After getting less than nothing form anyone and everyone who knows me for far too long, why should I give anything back?

I may or may not have one small thing on my side though. Karma. Yep, if i that's real, I'm in good shape and the rest of you are royally fucked. I would hope that it was real, that at least one dream of mine came true, but by now, I know better, so I hope for shit, I ask for nothing, and I expect the worst, and every single one of you can go get fucked sideways if you don't agree with how I feel.

Well, I Can't Sleep"

I dunno, maybe it's because it's supposed to snow here in a couple of days. Maybe it's because I can't get over how something that was supposed to be kinda nice turned out to be another in a very long line of disappointments. Maybe I've had a few spooky dreams this week, you know, the ones that get you sitting up in the middle of the night, sweating like mad and so scared that it takes you a minute or two to realize where you are? Maybe it's all three, and more.

Vampires got it easy. They can be walking around this time of the night not wondering, but knowing why. We had someone in my kindergarten class that used to bite people...But he used to wet his pants all the time too. That's not even the sick thing though, haha, oh no. I hear he's running for Mayor next term. Guy can't hold his water or kep his face off of people, and he's going to be in charge of so much more than himself...The whole world's gone mad. I'm outta here.

"Race Of The Demon."

That would be the Winter Demon of course. And it is racing to get here. Today, it was a mere ten degrees above freezing, which means that I've got frost on my special purpose, a runny nose, and a chapped a-...Well, you get the idea.

I almost forgot how cold 'home' was. Haven't spent a winter here in years, and today, I remembered why. Cold is not really a word you want to associate with home, is it? I mean, it's kinda negative. There was one bright spot in my life today...Yea, it came from a floorlamp. How nice.

This is going to be a short one but, what can I say? Bitter weather makes for bitter blogging. Niiigth...

You ever meet someone that you think is really incredible. You know, someone who completely changes the way you look at your feel about things, without even trying? Someone who tells you they'll be around forever, even though they're gone in a matter of months? Alright, now, have you ever done it about a hundred times before? Didn't think so.

I have, not on purpose of course, but because some people just turn out to be dishonest, fake, useless, pathetic, cowardly...The list goes on, never getting nicer. I have tried for years to try and tolerate people like that, mainly because it's all I ever ran into. There are those [very few] of you that are alright though. And since you are here, I guess I don't need to tolerate the others anymore, so, I'm not going to. All done, yep. It only ends up making me feel bad when I do it, bites me right in the ass with serrated teeth, haha. So to those of you that I will no longer be talking to, good riddance, and to those [few] of you that are actually worth something, thanks!