Tuesday, September 1, 2015

a short (drunk) one act play.

Scene: Sammy's place, where she has been cleaning up trash in anticipation of an undesired visit from contracted cleaners who are going to clean vents.

The bugs:

Dear Samantha fair, who lives above us,
Tell us what sin we hath perpetrated,
Such that on these days you tear down our houses,
Anguish our children, and cast out your friends?


Dude, wait, what?  When last have you paid me rent?
Or fucking tidied up the tiniest,
Of this apartment in which we do dwell,
I mean, you're kind of just fucking slackers.

The bugs:

But Samantha, we had a deal set fast
In stone,


                 What no?  Since when did we deal such?

The bugs:

Since we have forgiven you many sins?


What sins do you lie at my feet tonight?

The bugs:

Do you remember the one named Bob?


Bob?  What name is that, that I should recall?

The bugs:

Do you remember the candle you lit,
All aglow with its shining luminence?


Many candles have I lit.  Many more
Have I extinguished.  You speak of one though?

The bugs:

Do you recall the tweezers?  Gripping strong?


And the candle?  Shall I forget that now?

The bugs:

Bob was slack that day.  You caught him up fast.


Did I then?  To what purpose this action?

The bugs:

To carry him, struggling, to the fire's maw.


Alight, then, I set him?  To burn for sins?

The bugs:

What sins, awful tyrant?  What have we done?


Sins of contamination.  Sins of greed.
You have made my home your nest, and ruled there;
Set yourself as a rapacious lord there,
And smuggled my bounty for your gain,
Should I have been better at management,
Your children would have starv-ed in the womb,
And your wives widowed and barren till death,
And all your works burned and broken forever,
Your lives wasted in the pursuit of death.

Sunday, August 30, 2015

i should probably stop this

this constant "write a post" "make post a draft" "read post again later and decide it's cool to publish" "pull down post again".


there's this constant noise in my head telling me to do things.  some of them are "take out the trash" and "do you have clean clothes for tomorrow?"

some of them are "write gross porn" and "watch gross porn."

still others are "are you sure you've got that red blood?  maybe it's worth checking it out.  you know, just to be safe" or "huh.  breathing is just this constant thing, you know?  like a chore you have to do all the damn time.  plastic seems like it could help us here.  let's check out what plastic's got going on, right?"

i guess it's called "intrusive thoughts"?  like, you know you can't just stab the waitress who just gave you a sharp knife for your food, but your brain still tells you that, like, you know, it's an option if you're up to it.

it certainly doesn't help that i get drunk.  a lot.  sorry.  but drinking dulls that noise.  the that part is all "whatevs" and the other is all, "do what you want" and the amethyst is "or just nap all day, it's cool."

so again, sorry.  i have work shit to do tomorrow, and i have people coming to my apartment this week, so i have to hide all my trash and alcoholism for that.

but i so want to get this part done.  the tender parts i wrote while drunk are kind of good.  i think i need to just stop trying to get a "writing mood" and just write.  just make the words come out.  i can fix them later if they're not good.  but getting the ideas down in some form seems like the most important bit.

honestly, what is up with my space bar?

Saturday, August 29, 2015

fine. i'll admit it.

it's taken me years to accept it, but i can't deny it anymore.

takenoko no sato are superior to kinoko no yama.

they're simply better.

Monday, August 24, 2015

hey there. first up, i really want no one to panic about this. just, calm everything down, and don't get too worked up about it. let's all take a step back, ok?

i'm suicidal again.

whoa, whoa, whoa, read that title again.  i'm drunk. and i'm super slow about everything, so this isn't an imminent threat.

but honestly.  suicidal thoughts are back in full strength.

i've been kind of coasting on a wave of panic and anxiety that made me feel like if i killed myself, then i'm just pushing burdens onto other people.

but that's kind of been relieved.  i could totally kill myself today, and it'd probably annoy a bunch of people, but they wouldn't be super burdened.

so, wow.  this is fucked up.  "if i'm stressed beyond comprehension, i can push that into a balloon that represents my sanity, but if that stress depletes, the balloon deflates, and only death awaits."

"you should go to therapy, sammy.  this can be fixed".  thanks, my brain.  telling me the things that are true.  jerk.

so, hey,

think about things.  i write some more cool porn.  you like it.  but then, six decades later, we're dead, and just a disgrace to your descendants.  and then think a million years from then.  no one cares.  i'm not like some sort of porno-jesus.  i've been forgotten for a million years.

and then like a billion years from then, the sun is going to ignite everything into a burnt cinder anyway.

so why does anything matter?  if i killed myself, why is that some sort of tragedy, when after everything, we all end up as ash under an angry sun?

"but we could help people, sammy!"

yes.  we could.  but a major political party is suggesting that "mexicans should probably just die" and "or blacks.  pretty much anyone not white"  and "like, literally, anyone not white.  they can just get shot if you feel the desire."  also, "gay people are demons who need to be expelled."

we could help people.

if any cared.

understand the first sentence of this post now?  if not, try reading again.

i know i'm a baby, baby

Sunday, August 23, 2015

wanna know what's fun?

playing disney roulette.

it's super simple.

listen to disney song videos on youtube until you break out in super gross ugly crying.

challenge: start with frozen videos.

"fuck you, i can 'let it go' forever!"

sure, whatever.  can you "first time in forever (reprise)" it?


didn't think so.

so i'm going to wipe out a bunch of gross tears that are all over right now, and give an update that i totally wrote some stuff last night while drunk.  it's pretty good, actually, and that's my assessment from not now, but when i was not drunk.  the next part is literally the bit of the story that is the story and isn't this stupid awful prologue i had to write formyself.

Saturday, August 22, 2015

11671 characters

so it's slightly bigger than "food".

i think i'm ready to go back to following the notes.  i had a big excursion of "write this now, sammy, because otherwise you'll forget it!"

and also, this is still out of place, chronologically.

i'll try to fix it later.

i kind of want to write the end piece.  probably because i'm a jerk.

Friday, August 21, 2015

i often

wish the Annie from my stories was a real Annie in real life, so i could have some sanctuary from the thoughts that constantly fight me.