When I was young, fewer things beeped.
in·ter·es·ting (ĭn`trĭ-stĭng) adj. 1. capable of holding one’s attention. 2. arousing a feeling of interest. 3. oh God, oh God, we’re all going to die.
Not much to say. Morphine speaks for itself.
Morning (May, 2010)
Late to bed and early to rise, feet on the floor and opening eyes. Greet the morning, an obnoxious friend, unrelenting and bright to no end. Stumble to laptop, dig up the news, consider some writing, curse at my muse. Put on some music, try to keep pace, shower and shave, wash teeth, brush face. Groggily turn on the coffee and stare, fill up the cup and trudge out of there.
Writing is a drug. It’s free, but it comes with a price. Writing incites...
Story Scrap 013
My phone rang loudly, almost rudely, rousing me from a state of sleep so deep that I had seemed to have forgotten how to do most anything that required consciousness. I was content to let it ring, but my fingers had decided to poke blindly at the touchscreen till I heard a voice on the other end. After several failed attempts, I was greeted by a pleasantly familiar sounding female, and proceeded...
If you try and take a cat apart to see how it works, the first thing you have on...– Douglas Adams
annadraconida: Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven read...
Penchant for the Pensive
Awake in my bed thoughts dance in my head and I hope that tonight it might go. But I should know better, it rises, unfettered, a demon which I’ve come to know. I just want to lose these hours I use, but I fear they’re forever lost. And so my mind wanders and I start to ponder how much all of this will cost. How much I have paid to stay up all day, and await the moment of sleep. While...
Without coffee, mornings are just the asshole who puts shaving cream on your hand and then tickles your face.
On the whole, human beings want to be good, but not too good, and not quite all...– George Orwell
I wouldn’t say I’m a good man. I’ve done enough wrong that calling myself a good man would make me a liar. By that respect, I am not a bad man either. At least, I don’t think myself to be one. I am, simply, a man. I have flaws and faults, I feel guilt and shame, I have been proud and have fallen victim to pride, and I have felt both joy and despair. And that’s all I have to say about that.
Some nights never seem to end. Insomnia is a cruel trick, especially when it doesn’t have the decency to bring some ideas with it. It’s not easy telling the world that you write when all you do is stare at a blank screen all night. You feel like a failure, ashamed that you can’t figure it out when for others the words flow and inspiration spouts.
I smile more now, because I know it’ll all work out in the end. The end...
Every scar on these hands is a lesson learned - everything from how to ride a bike, to how to sharpen a knife - and those lessons will not soon be forgotten.