I want to be young in the seventies and nonexistent in the eighties.

Don't worry, I'm not malignant. You may want to have me frozen off for caution's sake, though.

WELCOME. I'm a doormat.

I want someone to do a stick up. Point a gun at me and all. Then I want to come to find out that it's just a water gun. That would be so clever! It would kill me! It would really kill me. A water gun, painted black. Oh man, if only.

Everything I presently feel compelled to say, well they aren't my words.

Take a left
A sharp left
And another left
Meet me on the corner and we'll start again.

"I'm a thousand fleeting ambitions a minute. Each is rapidly extinguished and replaced like so many cigarettes. Almost everything makes me angry and everything else makes me sick."

I've spent my friday afternoon and night with Oscar Wilde and Voltaire. Perhaps tomorrow I'll waste the day away with Jack Kerouac. Nothing combines with perpetual fatigue like incessant reading. With that said, I must resume Candide.

The other day, as I realized I had to go upstairs, I decided to venture up them as though I'd been mortally wounded. Stabbed, or shot, or what have you. I stumbled recklessly up the first flight. As I was hurling myself from the first landing to the second set of stairs my cheek bone collided with the edge of a step. I continued on in the same ( Read more... )

The following is the satirical speech I wrote for the optimist's oratorical contest that we have to do in Lit. I did a satire because I find the premise ("my hero is") to be a grotesquely trite one. It was mandatory to begin the speech with "My hero is..."

Have at it, if you will.

( Read more... )

boring

I think I hate you all
AND this place is getting old