Glurt:How to Hurl Without Making A Mess
Well. ok . see. I can't sleep, and so here I am listening to the Cure and pondering my transgressions. It's a sad thing...it seems like all I do lately is either sleep or want to sleep. When the alarm goes off (it's one of those kind that start of soft at first and then get louder and louder until it sounds like an air raid siren) well, when it goes off, I wake up, but I would give up a testicle to go back to sleep. It's a real pain, waking up. I was thinking earlier, it'd be kind of cool if there was some way to record your dreams. I've had a couple of good ones, like the kind that would make a good movie, if you could remember the plot well enough. Usually it's like, it makes perfect sense when you wake up, but after a while you forget the salient points of the plot, and after that it's all over. Too bad you can't hook up a VCR. People's subconscious minds are so much more creative than the people themselves are. My subconscious keeps me from looking like a total fool. If I had to consciously remember everything I had to do..well, I couldn't'TB. My subconscious keeps track of it all for me and spits it out at the appropriate moments. (Sometimes it's a little late, but, you know, late is better than never.) But it won't help me sleep, and I have to work tonight, and this really sucks. I need a vacation...I wish someone would set fire to Hitachi--not burn it to the ground, just torch it enough so that they have to close for a couple of weeks. I still get paid, see--the Japanese may be anally retentive but they look oput for their employees. (As long as you're at work on time--the attendance policy is evil.)
Glurt! This where I write whatever I want to. Here, you can read my thoughts of various subjects, and laugh your ass off! Here, you can realize that life is not so bad when you really think about it, and here you can find that wisdom you've sought so long! (or something like that.) There are no limits in Glurt-world--I say whatever happens to pop into my head. In here, well, anything is possible, so if you're easily put out by bad grammar and awful metaphors (yes, sir, just like Goneggs!), then go away and read Mark Twain for a true perspective on life.
Last night saw the end of the Rx-7. The transmission went finally, quietly, even though the car had been dropping pieces of exhaust system daily and vibrating ominously as if it were promising a spectacular finale. Instead, nothing at all. The motor just suddenly revved up and the car started slowing down. Et finis.
I felt a little sad, because the Rx-7 had served me well for much longer than my mechanic promised, and delivered quite a few thrills. I also felt like I do with all my cars when they explode, implode, catch fire, or just die quietly--I wonder what it would say if it could talk. Would it tell me strange places it's been, people it's seen, events it witnessed? Has it heard compromising rumours spoken only on the freeway?
Weigh that against the pure embarrassment of being seen in such a piece of crap, and getting rained on, and the really bad gas mileage, and the stuff that kept falling off (here I must apologize to that poor guy on 360 who encountered my catalytic converter in the middle of the road) and waking up the neighborhood at 3 am, and I am relieved to see it go. I am sure everyone else is, too.
I started to write something in here and then my mind fluttered to a
halt and now I'm just staring stupidly at the page (well, I was until I
started typing this, anyway). I get to go home in a while and veg out, and
maybe I'll watch Henry V because, even though I don't feel like
taking the effort to understand, the cadences are soothing. I saw Romeo
and Juliet the other day, and it was excellent, I thought. Even though
at times it was a little cartoonish, there was a power behind it, especially
in the opening scenes. And the complete idiocy of the entire play always
surprises me as well, like why in the world can't they just take off together,
instead of going through all those complicated machinations, and failing
miserably. if it was me, I'd just say, "Hey, Juliet, meet me in the
woods at midnight and let's hit the yellow brick road, baby." But,
of course, it's just a story, and there would be no story otherwise.
Just laughing at all the crap I write in here. Sometimes it sounds just, stupid.
It seems like more happens to me around Christmas than at any other time of the year. Summer always just goes by, with my birthday breaking the flow like a semicolon. Summer is hot, and limp, and lifeless. I always feel slightly drained in the summer. But once the heat breaks (and that's exactly what happens, here, it'll be 98 degrees until the first cold front hits, and then it won't get above sixty until next spring) I feel much better, and the kind of day I like best are those cloudy, blustery days where it's not all that cold, but you know it's going to get that way pretty quick. I love snow, too. When it snows I always find an excuse to go driving in it.
I always...eat...too much...pizza.....augh....
I was looking over this, and I got to thinking about what a purpose this page has served. It's given me some new insights on what writing actually is, or rather, how it actually is. I always thought s story was something you made up...well, it's not. A story is not just about something or other, it's also about the person who wrote it. Learning to write is essentially (and simplistically) learning how to talk to yourself, and that's exactly what this page is turning out to be. So ignore all the little angst-ridden entries further up, and remember this: the real stuff comes from some weird place inside you, and if you don't feel a strange thrill at what you are doing, if the words don't form themselves at your fingertips, then go do something else for a while, like mow the lawn, or something.
I swear, I can do anything I put my mind to.
Well, I've moved out of the Land of Milk and Honey and ended up (back) in a place that gets reallly hot. Austin has crappy highways and nothing to do, but I'm sort of beginning to like it. (High Rent) Home is where the heart is, I guess. If I could feel some more vibes, I'd write those down, too, but I'm all out.
. In case anyone was wondering why this broken image keeps showing up, it's the only way I can figure out how to run the logger script, because my provider WON'T ALLOW SERVER SIDE INCLUDES...hope they heard that.