Thursday, January 31, 2008

I Am nNot MYself

I woke up this morning already feeling like shit, running on four hours of sleep and desperately in need of coffee. Luckily I had no thermos with which to hold the coffee as I made the hour long trip back home and so I went dry. Six hours later I'm on my way back to muncie, new prescriptions from the allergist in one hand and feeling like I might pass out at any moment. All I wanted was to come home to her.
Luckily for me again she was already at work when I made it back.

I've been trying to get something put down on paper for one of the ten or twelve book ideas I've had. It seems like each time I start I am assaulted by voices I'm all to familiar with. This is not uncommon when trying to creatively do anything, but any more it seems that I give up instead of plodding on.

I've written 45 pages about penguins who go to war. WTF?

Being a creative writer means looking ahead to a bright future of wondering just when the hell you are going to do anything about your life. My friends are business majors, teaching majors, english majors studying literature, web designers and film students. When they look ahead it is to internships and grad school, salaries and nice places. I see bus passes and super sweet food stamps. This is not the reality of it, not really, but being into art means that you can never quite place your finger on what it is you are going to live like in ten years. You could have hit it big and be eating on a regular basis or you could be sitting at home with your thumb wedged tightly into your ass for warmth. Either of these scenarios are acceptable behavior for anyone under the 'art' umbrella.

I suppose the question I've been pissing around instead of on is this: What is it going to take for me to start writing in a way that secures a future?

I leave that for you to consider, mostly because I don't know the answer and I'm hoping you do. Please? Seriously.

Don't leave me hanging here, oh my brothers.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Wedding Bells Sound Better...

...When Mixed With Tanq and Tonic

Keighdee came home bearing gifts this evening. In her sack of delights were a bottle of gin, a bottle of tonic water and some rum that tasted like suntan lotion. Along with these glorious wonders was a magazine devoted to helping newly engaged people think out and plan their wedding.

I'm no stranger to this topic, if anything I was completely an instigating half of its genesis. We'd been in the mall, passed a jewelry store and I thought we should go in. That was about eight months or so ago. Now we aren't just looking. I suppose that means this is for real real and not for play play. Damn you Chris.

This sort of thing doesn't scare me in the way I think it should. I mean that I don't wake up at night screaming for a simpler time or vomiting massive quantities of my manhood onto pleated pants. Instead, I sweat to the thought of having no career and no defined future while simultaneously wondering if I ever will have either. How can I support someone else without those things to support myself?

It doesn't help that my brothers, both biological and half-blood, are lukewarm on the idea. I do not blame them though, "in a world of men raised by women maybe the last thing we need is another woman." Thank you for the Christmas gift, Josh.

At least I am excited about the ordeal. I get to bring together a collection of atheists, gay men and general miscreants into a church where I will ask them to witness blessed union. Will they swear upon the book on my behalf? Will that book be Moby Dick? You're goddamn right it will be. We are hunting whales, mates, and there be dragons in this ocean that would piss in your hat just as soon as spit in your tea.

Happy hunting, oh my brothers.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Christ, have you seen this guy?

This has been an adventurous weekend. After traveling between home and pseudo-home at least four times I managed to clean my apartment from top to bottom (with the help of the lady) and buy over a hundred dollars in groceries. Such a sum for food has thus far been unheard of in the hollow of my bank account but I'm ringing the bell in there now I suppose and the echo is coming back as "coupons".

I'm writing this just after my philo 100 test, something I'm still not confident I passed considering the questions involved opinions and there are supposedly right and wrong opinions. When you ask a question like, "Do you enjoy macaroni?" you can say either yes or no. In philosophy if you say either yes or no then you are wrong, metaphysically wrong. That means that not only did you fail the question on this plane, but in some other universe of thought you double failed. Fucked from the word go mate, enjoy the taste.

Beyond that this week is shaping up to be just like the rest. There is school, and liquor and writing. Writing also includes playing video games for ten or more hours a night.

I have been working on my sixty-one blood elf mage a lot lately. I think I'm doing it to avoid the fifty line poem and short story I'm suposed to be composing.

I'm on some sort of quest to be a tailor and an enchanter on him, which is pretty enjoyable. Basically I kill things, steal their money and maybe their sword, then make hats and belts from the clothes they were wearing. After that I turn the clothes I made from their clothes into dust and use that dust to make the clothes I already wear super awesome. This sort of leads me to my next point: what the fuck?

With videogames people hardly think of it as a real place or time, which is good because that shit is about as fake as it gets, but it is interesting to consider the possibilities. In WoW I have slaughtered entire generations of pigmen as they tended their gardens or walked around their houses. I have killed elves and humans without mercy, hitting them with fiery rocks or freezing them and cutting them in half with ice. I have killed an incredible number of animals labled "rare" which makes me think that it may have been a federal thing and only taken their livers or hearts. I have poached gazelle, zebra, wolves, piglets and hyena. Honestly the list of atrocities continues for a long while since I've been playing for such a huge amount of time. I wonder if I will ever be forgiven for burning a village of space creatures and stealing their tribal relics for profit.

I suppose I can end on that note. More tomorrow I imagine since tonight is going to be full of murder and burnings.

Until then, oh my brothers.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

The Initial Hurrah

And so it begins, Theory.

I have caved in to your oppressive demands and have undertaken a blog of my own. I have done it not for the reasons you would think no matter what those reasons are. Tattoos? Fuck you, that is not why. Women? Certainly not. You can keep guessing as to why and I will continue to tell you that the answer is simply that this, in the first month of the two-thousand and eighth year of our lord, is the day of reckoning. I have tossed my gauntlet into the dust at your feet and pissed wildly into the sun.

I have never kept up with a blog before because eventually one has to wonder about the point. Is this a public journal of my exploits? A record of my life left for a digital archeologist to sift out of the rusted wreckage of porn sites when the interwebs finally becomes a smoking heap? Who knows. Honestly I imagine this is going to turn into an account of the ridiculous nature of my life. There will be posts on WoW, on drinking, on writing and my lust for published works. There will be rants that I will allow you in on and make love to you with. There will be music made when my words rub your eyes like a reed pulled across taught strings. I will try not to worry you too much and I will attempt to entertain as best as I am able. There will be cussing, pirates, sods and scalliwags, british fops fucking mops and other such items of obscene nature. I hope as you play the voyeur you enjoy it all and feel no guilt for reading. With that, I suppose, the disclaimer and opening is finished.

So begins scene one, act one: Oh My Brothers.