quiet (again?)

he said
"keep walking in light"

how can the best piece of advice i ever got be tied to so much danger?

the towel with the monkeys is still in my closet.
i will probably never have the heart to throw it out.

is this fog?
or distraction?
his box...so his rules?

impossible
us

damn the interwebnet for making it so easy to go nowhere.

crash

today was a day of false starts.
i woke up, said goodbye, drank some coffee, went back to bed.
woke up, ate pizza for breakfast at 2pm, tried to fix my broken thermostat...
a song a message
opened the window to let in the rain
not ready to start yet but
running out of time.

made some (maybe not so) innocent bad jokes that I think are going to cost me more than i expected
which was none

sometimes i suck, today is one of those days
fuck
baby
a guy who makes me feel like i'm lying in bed getting punched in the gut is always bad news anyway

i sent the monkey monk off with my last peach to keep me safe, to make sure that the one who calls out the darkness wouldn't return
reminded of his absence,
how do I get him back without sacrificing the ocean I sent him to guard?

properly nuts - it’s a phrase that haunts me,
phantomwise

imagine if we were on the same side?
the ego must be quiet or its all going to end in tears

“Of this same flimsy, magic stuff our dreams were woven in the night - nothing, with all the pictures of the world in it.” (Hesse)

quit playing games with my heart

I just tried to play solitaire but I opened up my calculator by accident instead. It actually confused me for a second.

How do I get myself into situations where I have to defend my honour against random strangers? I guess it’s the price I pay for an all night pass into the realm of the infinite...the force demands balance. The thing I love about this writing business is that the more full of shit you are, the more people think you're a genius. I'll admit I pat myself on the back from time to time - it sounds something like this: Omigod I am a fucking genius sometimes! (no one is reading this so it’s okay to brag, right?)

I am a badass and just sliced cucumbers on the counter with no cutting board (I’ll regret it in the morning, what else is new?)

So it seems I have discovered (a little too late but not so late that it doesn't still count) that the key to being able to write non-fiction is to read fiction. Good fiction. Genius fiction. Crazy fiction.

Thesis detritus: The fish told me to write and so I wrote, and now it's time for some zen-like platitudes. Here's what I realized today: there is a real difference between knowing and doing, between wishing and being, between creating and living.

Er, don’t look at me for answers...if I had any I would have written the book, gotten rich and made my way out to one of my many mountain village homes (I'm was thinking maybe BC, Ukraine, Japan, and Ireland...do they have mountains in Ireland? They have nice voices there, anyway. I’ll make it work somehow. Hmmm, and I guess I'll have to add the monkey sanctuary to that now - yeah, 'round these parts we just call them all monkeys, but we like all kinds) where I will be attended by hot dark-haired men with nice sideburns who like to stay in bed all day...when they're not busy making me dinner.

Right, so since this blog is actually supposed to be about boys and my misadventures in romance in preparation for the writing of my own great, groundbreaking novel (about same), here is a pickup line I thought of just now:
"Hey, wanna go for a ride on my merry-go-round?"

I fucking hate it when you ignore me, and you know it, don't you?

Hmmm, I hope I haven’t shot my proverbial wad here. Back to work. A bientot. (how do you make accents on this thing?)