i wish tumblr would just say

"hey, this asshole stopped following you.  what an asshole, right?"

instead it's all like, "oh, magically, this number that probably shouldn't matter to you as much as it does is now one less.  huh.  wonder how that happened?"

i mean, sure, i should spend the time i waste reblogging shit writing my own stories, so i'm productive and not just "hey.  look at that.  cool."  but most of the time my brain is just junk, so that's not happening.

hey.  look at that.  cool.

also: am i drunk, or is there like a nine inch nails video that has a spider doing spider things?  i saw a spider today, and was like, "isn't that that one video?"

maybe i was just drunk.


sorry.

laysan keys:

finally finished.  i am sorry i am such a horrible reader.

i continue to worry about laysan, and i suspect will do so for the rest of forever.  this all worked out.  i worry about the three keys.  i worry about a lot of things.

surely one day the conflict will all be gone, right?  paty and laysan will be able to be happy together forever, with no interruptions or distractions.  right?

either way, you don't have to answer this to tell me.  i'll hope for the best, no matter what.

love
sammy

[but it never posted, so i'm putting it here so i can copy it later.]

ok, this is nonsense

but david bowie.

omg

how is he that sexy?  like,

all the girls ever are all, "let's do sex, sammy"

"nope"

"david bowie"

"oh, fuck, we lose to that dude!"

omg.

i mean, he's all super old and shit, and i go on youtube, and i'm just like, "whenever, whatever, no one cares"

i love you, mr david bowie.

also, you, key.  you knew i loved you.  i love you so much.

let's call this a spooky story, even though it isn't really.

mostly, i just want to put it down so i have some record of it.  it's weird though.

so, like super early tuesday morning, i woke up in my living room on my couch.  this isn't super unusual.  my couch is like ten feet away from my bed, so it's not like i was wandering around a lot in my sleep.  i assume that i got up to pee, and went to the wrong place due to, let's say, "chemical issues."

except when i woke up to go back to my bed, all i could think was "wow, this is an awful lot of pain."

when i actually woke up, my back super hurt, and when i looked at it, there's like a two inch long gash on my right side.  there was also a blood stain on my couch where that point on my back was.

and i have no idea how it got there.  like, nothing else had blood on it.

so i'm saying it was a ghost.  a ghost stabbed me in the back.  or like, lightly sliced by back enough that it bled on my couch.

spooky.

ambien analogy

imagine your body is like that inside out movie i didn't see.  but you have all these bits that work together to ensure you live your life right.

now, imagine ambien comes in, puts them all to sleep, but leaves their understudies to take over.

"i'm pretty sure we've got like 60% leg movement.  if you're sure you want a trip to the kitchen, go for it, but be prepared to grab on to keep steady."

"um, i think we're being poisoned with vodka, too.  can we just shut down balance entirely to prevent damage?"

"no, because if we do that, we lose "not throwing up," and this post-it note i just found indicates that this is a big deal for the day shift."

"fine, but i'm going to see if triggering a song to sing will keep the movements synchronized, since the only scheduler seems to be the one that sings."

"we have a stubbed toe!  repeat!  stubbed toe!  it should hurt like a motherfucker, but it's kind of just a dull ache.  initiate a massage mode to see if we can wake up the health team if it feels weird and broken."

"omg, and now the lights go out?  wtf?"


sorry, secondary conscious systems that have to run things when the main ones are incompacitated because they made a formal decision to end the day with a bunch of sleeping pills to shut things down.  i know they love you, too.

it's disappointing to sit down to write something before going to bed

and reading the last bit, and being so unhappy with it that i just close the file.

:(

does anyone know about this?

i had a spam message, and when i clicked, it was unlike my usual spam messages.  it's for some story page "peach club".  has anyone heard of it before?  is it actually spam, or is it a proper decent story site?

it's a bit odd that they say stuff like "You write great erotica, and we need great erotica to get this community off the ground."

also stuff like "As I said, it's 100% free to post your work to the site."  i mean, duh.  who would pay to post stuff?

might have made a mistake

i have to do doctor tests this week, so i decided "let's stop drinking this week, and try to eat better and stuff.  you know, lie for the tests."  i don't know what the effectiveness is going to be, or even if it's worth bothering. but, that's the plan.

but it's kind of been something that organizes my going to sleep routine, even if thta's "ill-advised" or "a big giant warning sign" or something.  but it helps me get to sleep without all the demons in my brain clawing at me for hours.

"they have therapy now, sammy.  have you looked into it?"

yeah, yeah.  i know.  i think it'll just be the same surface level junk that i did last time.  they were a bit helpful, but since i'm posting this on the same blog i put up my stories that involve..."socially underexplored relationship paradigms" i'm kind of sure that should be something to bring up.  since hiding a whole giant part of my inner personality from someone trying to get to know me to see how they can help seems like it's counterproductive.

also: this post just got super hard to continue, because the zolpidem is obviously kicking in.  that's the sleeping pill i took the night i woke up to my freezer sitting wide open because drug-me wanted a popsicle.  i don't have popsicles today, so i'm hoping that keeps me safe.

other than freezer ruining, this drug kind of unclips bits of your brain in a way that's not normal.  it's like you're pretty sure everything is real, but things seem to work wrong.  sitting up.  walking.  putting words in the right order.  thoughts.

so in any case, if i post tomorrow that "my kitchen smells like dead garbage because i went looking for popsicles" again, then this didn't work as well as i was hoping.  my best case scenario: the slow slowing of my brain to sleep will work better this time.

so hey!  let's play with drugs that i legally have a prescription for, and see if I can get the kind of results they claim on the bottle!



and i opened up two stories this weekend, and procrastinated myself enough to not write anymore.  i did come up with brain dialogue, so hopefully i can smooth these junky bits so i can get it done.












ok, time to see how hard standing up is going to be this time..

so. drunk. listening to 80s music. but:

did people in the 80s really just assume that we'd have a world war and kill everyone, so "no use planning stuff!"?

like, a lot of these songs are all "but then war, and we all die, so whatever."

is that why we have all this climate change shit? "yes, we're killing everything, but before we get there, we'll have actually literally killed everything.  so it's not like it matters or anything."

wow.  i never realized how much i hated my parent's generation.

also, if you're a republican, unfollow me, and then light yourself on fire.  for being a fucking jerkass.

this is going to be a dumb post.

i went to foodland today, because i needed body wash and water.  i didn't buy water, because i forgot that that was on the list entirely.  i checked a bunch of other things that i didn't need to buy, but not water.

this isn't about that.

last time i went to foodland, they had cinnamon raisin breadsticks at the checkout impulse buy section.  along with boxes of cereal for some reason.  i got some, and they were really good, and so they were gone in like a day.

so this time, i track down the cinnamon raisin breadsticks to their home with all the other breads, and specifically get some.  fine, impulse buy section, you got me.  but i assume i've outsmarted it.

today, what's sitting in the impulse buy section?  slabs of cornbread in those plastic cake slice thingies.  who impulse buys cornbread?


so now my tummy is rumbling, and i'm about to eat this slab of cornbread that i cut into more manageable sticks, and i'm kind of worried what the impulse buy section will have next time.

when was the last drunk sammy post? a long time ago, right?

so, imagine you've got a time machine.  and can do all the time machine stuff people usually talk about.

imagine going back in time and giving freddie mercury the anti-retroviral drugs we have now to cope with hiv.  i mean, we're not going to save him forever for everything.  but we'd get years of hope and music we don't have today.

sorry, apparently it's time to uncontrollably cry because the universe is shitty at everything.  sorry.  sorry shitty universe for hating you so hard.

sorry everybody coping with this shitty universe for not being as cool as i hope i could be.

sorry everybody everywhere.

:(

the news just said that a monk seal just died on laysan island.  i probably would have completely ignored it, but the name of the island jumped out at me.

i should read the latest chapter.

fuck being a grownup

i'm having cake for dinner.

can i just copy the tumblr post?

hey. hi.

i’m back.  i have like almost two weeks of stuff to look through, so the queue is probably going to be weird for a day or so, and then is going to be all “i saw this shit already, sammy” for a few days.

deals with it, ok?

i want waffles?

taking some time off

i'll be gone for a bit starting tomorrow.  nothing big, just travelling a bit.  the tumblr will probably run out, as i probably won't be able to get new stuff into it.

so if you're here because you were annoyed that the tumblr isn't tumblring, that's why.

if you're here because you're annoyed that i am bad at writing new things, i'm hoping i can relax some and get my brain into better shape.  go read old things so you'll be ready when new things show up.  i know i have to do that every time i sit down to write more.

hey, i know the answer is "no," but:

does anyone else watch that carmilla youtube show i mentioned at some point in the past?

did you watch this most recent episode 30 from season 2?

did i miss something somewhere?  i thought they were about to try and do something, but now the mean sister is dead?

what?

like, did i seriously miss five episodes or something?

i am so confused, and don't understand what's going on, and all sorts of other similar thoughts.

maybe all the bowie/queen/beatles i listened to as a kid broke me somehow, but

i kind of like the rick astley never going to give you up.

this is wrong, right?

it's that "making plans for nigel", "enjoy the silence", "mad world" feel.

like, "we're going to nuclear bomb shit hardcore, so listen to this robot make music at you, and if we survive, we're just going to stop shaving for a few years so you get the pearl jam shit."

right?

and maybe my parents should have had better than records.

awkward sigh.

i don't get history.

so. remember how i'm still going crazy, but no one i see in real life notices anything?

guess who's getting a promotion at work?

like "we really appreciate everything you've been doing, sammy, so i'm trying to push through a good raise, and you'll have to do all the paperwork and stuff, but since i'm the one who makes the decision, i think you've got a pretty good chance."

so this is the point where i think i just shrug my shoulders, and accept that the entire world is fucking crazy, and i'm just one of the few people who can see the kuroko shuffling shit around.

i don't know.  yesterday i was planning on if i could just eat fried chicken until that killed me.  maybe i should eat a salad tomorrow?

random thoughts, plus another short play.

if you tell me i'm fat, i'm probably going to cry when i get home.  i know i'm fat.  i know i should eat better and exercise and stop buying mcdonalds when i have a hole i need to fill inside.  that's this whole thing.  but you coming out and being all, "you need to lose weight, because you're fat."  that fucking hurts.  no amount of fat is going to cushion that punch to my tummy.


why do people go to the drive-thru and order like 19 meals?  just go inside!  there's an inside there, and you can all eat together and sit on uncomfortable chairs while you eat your shit-food.  some of us need to go home, so no one can see us eat shit food day after day while hoping the stupid organic engines just clog up and kill us.


i've been thinking about suicide a lot more than is probably healthy.  i should go to therapy.  my friend wants me to visit for a vacation, but isn't going to take time off so we can hang out together.  i think she wants me to goad her lazy husband into doing stuff, but i don't think i can deal with that expectation the way i am.  and i don't know if i can just beg out on this without alienating the only person who tries to talk to me ever.

i wish i could just not wake up and let everyone else deal with the messes i've made.


in case that happens:  "exhibition" ends on a super depressing point, but in a way that if you're me, you accept as a stunning redemption.

"spa treatment" will never end, because i will never get to the point where they re-commit themselves for more shit.  because i'm lazy.

the short play:

A: This week ended, all fears begone for us;
let those who tarry, yet enjoy their rest,
this work goes on eternally, go forth,
enjoy this long weekend for all to love.

S: Shall we write a story grand?  Late have we
forgotten our last goals, to live and love,
and spread such love to all that share our view,
that in love, may all that is weird, be free.

But wait!  I spy our water sadly low,
still yet just this bottle found, dry our home:
let us go forth and buy bottles a-new,
bottles to drink and share and love, I pray.

A: Shall we postpone the stories? Let them all
gather formless and grey?  Sit unloved now,
to await a glorious day?  How then,
shall we answer our friends?  Their love awaits?

S: Fuck them, fuck all, fuck all in the ass, shall
we dwell upon their goals, upon their schemes?
Or shall our stories breathe the life we give,
and soar into the sky we light with stars?



ok, that's enough of that.  seriously.  fake shakespeare is harder than i thought it.

so much counting.

the third-to-last sentence only works with one pronunciation of "seriously"

so suddenly this thought:

how, if you close your eyes, and think of yourself, you can kind of envision a universe of "you," where you have these slices of reality shooting out from you, where you recognize that this slice is this one thing that makes the you you are the you you are.

"fucking christ, sammy.  you said you were going to stop drinking, because you've again fucked up your liver!"

yes.  i did.  and i'm trying.  but trying involves diluting vodka with tea.  tea apparently is full of caffeine.  i'm bad at everything i do.

but that bad is this "mostly square, but has these weird blocky juts that stick out" shape that's colored black and is down there.  like, imagine you're flying.  and all of you is colored differently, and takes up different bits of the sky.  that shitty bit is down there, and it's this big square because it's slowly consuming my me.  and it's black, because it's not a healthy thing.

and that music i heard is that tiny zig-zag shape that i remember from long ago.  it's over to the left and up a bit.

new title:  "sorry.  i think i'm going crazy.  like, losing connection with reality crazy.  sorry.  i'll try to hold my ducks together better."