If Sadness Was a Piece of Hard Candy (Taken From Long Ago)

I have not had a new thought for a while now. Nor has anyone I know. The river which carries thoughts to my small village has long been dried up. We live here on this barren land. Without thought or idea. Exiting on instinked and routine. Living a rather mondain life. We only wait for the rain to come. It will come cascading down from the mountains flooding our patties and rejuvinating our village. Hope has run out a long while ago if only we had hope. We live like zombies. Never thinking, rarely speaking. Carring out our daily task never straying from what we had done the day before. We use to have philosiophers but they have all withered away. Every once in awhile a cloud passes over but no one ever takes notice. Sand covers our streets, our homes and our hearts. I no longer know weather I'm alive. If I were, I'd wish to die, but that isn't part of the routine. So I live.

Writing. Writing. (Written Awhile Back.)

Writing. Writing. Writing. My mind is a blank slate encompassing my body. I sit frozen staring at my computer screen. Every click of the keyboard reverberates in my skull. My thoughts lay dormaint in a crevase not seen for eons. I only wander what it is like for the charecters in my story. Are the dissapointed in me for failing them or have they been the one all alog conspire to freeze this plot so that they will never meet what was meant to be. Think. Think. I have chosen not to attempt to write untill my thoughts flow onto the page peacefully, of their own will, like that of a cascading waterfall. They will not be forced, backed into a corner, through mind maping and charecter analis. Not knowing what the ending leads one to feel that you may destroy what you have already written. I know my ending, its a master peice, but getting there has become a feet unsurmountable to meer mortal.

My story start like this.

.

It's a period. They are used to state the ending of an idea. I have chosen to place it at the begening. What does it mean? Well I have decided to leave that up to you. I know. But does that what I think it mean is the only answer? Yes. But you can still think of something regardless of the fact that it's bound to be wrong. After that artistic concept I chose to take the story to a mind blowing level. I leave the next 42 pages blank. Then I in the center of the 43rd page is the main charecters name. Although it is written in brail. And this is where I've stopped. I have the best story (or close to it) ever written this week. I'm thinking of making it a trilogy. Originally this was not my plan. I thought one long book with a rather large appendisies would be substantal. 3 is after four and before six. (That's depending on the relm in which you concepulize rational figures, such as numbers.)

You might be starting too see how this book of mine has come too a stand still. I could see how it migh be hard to conseptulize my highly sapirior concepts. But bear with me I due not find myself better than the average person, just my ideas. I write this to you hoping that one might become able to reach the same tear on the mountain of creativity. That's enough of my ideas. Back to my writer's block.....

College?

So anyways, I'm not sure how interesting this post will be. The context of the post is going to consist of numerous details on my sucking at applying to college. If thats your sort of thing read on. If not. You might as well read something else. Like me sucking at: parking, shopping, summers, act, life, lava lamps, and plenty of things. Now to continue with the body of the post.

The time is 10:01pm. I am sitting at a booth inside a diner called the Bad Waitress. Located in Minneapolis it is not far from my sisters close friend's , Amy, apartment. Amy is a very pretty girl who with short dark hair, 21, skinny, but most of all pretty. She lives up here with her boyfriend Nathan (tall, dark hair, nice guy, quiet). They are both great people, except for the fact that they have stolen Jaime (my twenty-two year old sister, with curly brown hair, brown eyes and red tights). They have taken her across the street to a bar called Azia. All of this would be fine, but my sister is to be helping me with my Common App essay. The essay in which I am currently at a loss of words. Again this would be fine. If it wasn't that the essay needs to be sent by the third of January. It is to be sent to my college of choice, Bennington...

I know I could continue on this rant, but I just got a surge of motivation for my essay. Wish me luck. I'm gonna need it..

Fifty Dollar Parking Spot

Today I woke up the day after our first snowstorm. Slowing arising from my insufficient slumber. I stayed in side delaying the inevitable. Reading. Waiting. I finally got up the courage to go outside to free my car of the snow that must have fallen on it overnight only to fine in snow-locked from the road it was once parked on. It must have been around 4:27, or so the ticket wedged neatly in my driver's side door reads, when a snow plow passed encasing my car in over a foot of compacted snow. Wade through the snow drift and force my car door open and collect the ticket, to whom which my misery is home. I am to be charge $50 to shovel my car onto the road. Starting my beast of a car to turn on the heat and blast the defroster will my my task somewhat less tiresome.

I leave my car and attempt to enter my friend, Max Pascall-Zimble's, new home were I stayed after moving his belongings from Lakeville down to Northfield. I turn the knob but it refuses to give. The door must be locked from the inside separating me from my bag and my warm mittens, the mitten I will need to shovel my way out. I go around to attempt to enter from the garage, but it is also locked. Max and his whole family had already left taking the keys. I return to my Oldsmobile grabbing the shovel on the way out. Receiving help from Allen, who's Blazer is in the same condition as my car, it only takes a few minutes to free the snow around my car. I am left alone to drive myself out. Throwing my car in to first. Then reverse. Back it to first. I inch my way out of my poorly chosen parking spot. Finally being free I have time to notice how much my hands sting from the cold. I wait for Allen to free himself. Then drive away.

Now I am at Blue Monday, writing this pointless post about how I was slightly inconvenienced by a pile of snow. This amount of snow was nothing, more will come. I will be come stuck over, and over again. Maybe going deep into the ditch, where it will take more hands and time to get out. I glad the snow has come. But having spent my last two dollars on a cup of coffee, I am not looking forward for the service charge for being buried by a snow plow.

my pathetic life

This is a note written to myself as to inform that I am indeed pathetic. If you are not me and you are reading this please do so it will help you feel better about yourself. You may have noticed that I am writing my life story on a stcky note (in which the the real world equivalent would be a post-it.) That is due to the shortness of the interesting parts of my existence. This may seem gloom to some, but it is not so. I have been conditioned to be meaningless. And as such have found it to be rather "enjoyable". (Some words from thus forward may be in quotes due to my warped view of reality. e.g.. staring at a white wall for hours on end might be considered "enjoyable".)

Now to write the second paragraph. The second paragraph is meant to describe one of the leading arguments of the thesis statement. And I believe that talking about what a second paragraph is meant to do I am indeed fulfilling it's purpose. So to get back to what I was talking about. A second paragraph is meant to tell the reader why he thinks he is undoubtedly right. In this case I am trying to prove that I am boring. Do you get the point of this paragraph?

Onto my "warped reality". I am "weird". But more importantly I am more "interesting" than you in every-way. (If you have forgotten I am writing this to "myself" and you are indeed a peeping tom.) I have "good looks"; at least it appears so in all the specially designed fun house mirror all around my house. I am also "smart". Not just tech-book "smart", but nonsense "smart". If you know anyone that is smarter than me you must not be me, so you really shouldn't be reading this seeing as it is not addressed to you. I have decided that I should finish this this paragraph saying that I am the nicest guy I know and if you don't agree I hope the plague kills your family and you are forced to live the rest of your days knowing that it was all because you chose to object to a crazy "man" claiming that he was nicest guy he knew.

You may be wandering why I am so pathetic if I am indeed great in so many ways. That's a good question. After all that is why you are still invading my privacy. So the least I could do would be answer you query. I have done nothing this summer. Not just your travel around the world meeting all kinds of new "people" nothing. But some really hard core nothing. e.g. " ". You may feel a small amount of pity for me or think that I'm "lame", but you seem to have "forgotten" I'm not "like you" I'm "crazy". I'm used to being bored. I bask in it. I have more time to appreciate the little things. Like sleeping in a "little longer". Forgetting to eat or bathe; Or remember that there really is an "outside". After all it's the little things that count, not friends, family, or "women". People need to take big chunks out of there life just to waste it. Skip a their birthday and just spend it in their room not getting out of bed. Or take all that time misspent eating and just look at it and put back in the fridge. After all if you actively participate in life you might just lose.

*Some, in fact most, statements may be false. Readers discretion advised.

Blue Maggots

You may be wondering why the title of this post is "Blue Maggots." Thinking that this post contained a putrid story about me pouring my daily bowl of Captain Crunch Berries at 8:00 in the morning, half awake, only to take a bite hoping for that surgery crunch only to feel the squirming of a half dozen maggots go down my throat. But that is not the case I do not wake up at eight, nor do I eat Captain Crunch. And as for the consumption of maggots I don't think you should meddle with my private life. This I will tell you. Altogether my summer has been rather uneventful. I have had my wisdom teeth taken out by a greedy dentist, no doubt taking them so he can place them under his pillow. My hair has been cut into a kickass/humiliating shape (I have grown to like it). And I have hung out with friends about as many times as I can count on one hand.

But out of all the things that have happened I've become most perplexed by a lava lamp. It's not how they work that confuses me; The lamp heats up the wax which causes it to rise through the oil were at the top it cools down and falls to the bottom. What confuses me is how they don't work. They never do. You turn it on expecting it to illuminate your room or at least a wall, but the light it produces is very minimal. That I can except. After all, even though it is a lamp, it is meant to entertain. This is were the thing bothers me.

When I turn it on it does nothing, the wax remains at the bottom. So I wait until the bulb heats the wax. But how long must I wait? A minute. Ten. A half hour? It ends up being a round an hour before anything begins to move at all, and when it does it's not in the friendly lava lamp kind of way. One of two things happens. Either a column of wax rises to the top creating a link between the top and the bottom making it so that most of the wax goes to the top via the column were it is than held up by it. Or after waiting for more than an hour all the wax spontaneously rises at once where it become wedged against the sides of the glass where it remains until I shake it.

Shaking it, although the most instinctive thing to do, is not a good idea. I causes small particles of wax to form inside the glass making it so that one cannot anything beyond the edges. Also it creates air bubbles inside the wax which ruins both appearance along with the way it falls and rises. Over time the bubbles will go away and it will once again become a blob lying on the bottom of the glass. After the that the stage is set for this viscous cycle to repeat itself. What I've noticed while stupidly using this defective lighting device during the summer in my un-airconditioned house is that you can always rely on it producing a lot of excess heat. This leads me to believe that the only practical function for this fad is a mini heater for the homeless during cold winters and rainy nights. It would also serve as a minor light supply and maybe even a cooking element with a little do-it-yourself rigging.

Don't misunderstand me it doesn't always fail to work. Every once in awhile when the planets line up perfectly (which happens slightly more often now because they wacked Pluto) it preforms an amazing display of what was "hip" and "groovy" in the seventies. And me and my two cats will sit staring in aw as bubbles of wax majestically float and sink to the bottom.

This Is What a New Post Looks Like

New post inform others on what one is actually doing. Otherwise you lonely bums will just end up rereading all my old post trying to figure out three things: Why I wrote them in the first place, If I don't do anything why don't I have time to write, and lastly why I continue to write like anyone is actually reading my post in the first place. But yet I'm still here bringing you all the information you'd never like to know only about yours truly.

First I want to tell you that I am no longer a cripple. Yes that's right my arm is now free to move as it is not suppressed by the communist which was my cast. I also am out of school, lucky me. It's been three weeks and I've not yet hung out with any friends. But that's because I'm pathetic. Gas is expensive and I do not have a job. Also my friends say I smell. So what have I been up to? Well wouldn't you like to know? Should I stop ending all my sentences with a question mark and just tell you? Ok. Not much. Eating on occasion, going on my computer, and the all interesting art of sleeping. If this is all so pathetic I have no reason to be telling you this. That's where you'd be wrong. If you have taken the time to read this you may be starting to feel better that's because you're not as lame as I am.

Although this post isn't very long I'd like to think we bonded a little. I'd continue to right more, but I'm afraid that pretty much sums up my summer. And unless I decide to do something soon this might be the only one for this excruciatingly hot season.