It was six when I woke up this morning, at five o'clock. Like separation, like Kevin Bacon. God is made of bacon, did you know that? He's haram. Like a colander, like the calendar.
Look it up.
I came home and sharpened my face (I did other things betwixt and between, but that's just work, and thus not really worth writing about until it is). Made myself what Patton Oswalt calls a "failure pile, in a sadness bowl", and waited for it to succeed. Cleaned, swept, vacuumed (there's a handful of words in the english language that have two "u"s next to each other...know any others?) and finally, finally, settled down to write. To "blahg", the kids are calling it.
I've been writing a lot, not here, so that's probably wounded my blogging a little. Whoops. But it's still me, still an extension of myself. And it's not that I haven't had things to say-I had a whole bit about this a couple days ago, but it seemed like it would take too long to run it around (long story short, I'm racist. No, not like that). You'll have to forgive me-I'm nesting. Like a gorilla.
It's the holidays, holy days. I'm looking forward to Cthulhu and my mother's company, dreading the Xmas music that hollows out my place of employment (it's improved, though. My doing, I'm sure) and drowning in solitude and self-satisfaction. There's worse things.
So I'm well, well enough. Strangely good, really. Better than in forever, to tell the truth. I'm new, different, strong and burning bright. I have hopes and dreams, friends and allies. Some of you are some of those, some of you are others. I'd leave it ambiguous, leave you guessing. You choose, alright? Everyone gets to do whatever they want. Even me.
Look it up.
I came home and sharpened my face (I did other things betwixt and between, but that's just work, and thus not really worth writing about until it is). Made myself what Patton Oswalt calls a "failure pile, in a sadness bowl", and waited for it to succeed. Cleaned, swept, vacuumed (there's a handful of words in the english language that have two "u"s next to each other...know any others?) and finally, finally, settled down to write. To "blahg", the kids are calling it.
I've been writing a lot, not here, so that's probably wounded my blogging a little. Whoops. But it's still me, still an extension of myself. And it's not that I haven't had things to say-I had a whole bit about this a couple days ago, but it seemed like it would take too long to run it around (long story short, I'm racist. No, not like that). You'll have to forgive me-I'm nesting. Like a gorilla.
It's the holidays, holy days. I'm looking forward to Cthulhu and my mother's company, dreading the Xmas music that hollows out my place of employment (it's improved, though. My doing, I'm sure) and drowning in solitude and self-satisfaction. There's worse things.
So I'm well, well enough. Strangely good, really. Better than in forever, to tell the truth. I'm new, different, strong and burning bright. I have hopes and dreams, friends and allies. Some of you are some of those, some of you are others. I'd leave it ambiguous, leave you guessing. You choose, alright? Everyone gets to do whatever they want. Even me.
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