Day 42
I think I have finally caught the virus going around, you know, the one that causes the sufferer to become physically active. I think it has something to do with living in a temperate climate where you can actually go outside, therefore, when you get this virus you are forced to feel terrible about not going outside. It's really just a bitch and I'm a sucker. Or, my immune system is a pussy when it comes to fighting off infectious agents.
Anyway, I went outside today to go to the library (maybe I should convert to Catholicism and pray that the technology for teleportation will soon be implemented)and instead of going to the library my mind decided I should go on a "walk" (translation: mini death march). I tromped all around listening to my I-pod playlist. I made it to a high point and looked out over the mountains and the ocean. Before I knew what was happening I was walking toward the water which, btw, was at least 5 kilometers away (I think, I have no idea what a kilometer is, I don't think I'll ever learn). With my new outdoorsiness I bounded down stairs and crossed streets and found myself passing buildings and going downhill and actually getting closer. I could see the waves. I was met with fencing that separated me from getting closer the only path being the one that reached out in front of me and turned to a dirt trail.
Then, I snapped out of it. "What the hell am I doing here?" I said aloud. I looked down the path and immediately thought that it was a path to invite someone to rape and kill me (which, as it turns out has happened down that way, thank god for instincts). I turned back and looked upward, realizing what I had done, wishing the mystique was still with me on the walk back up hills and stairs. I did pop off at the rose garden to guess what, smell the roses. I breathed in and smiled, pulling away from a fresh bud. I looked at it and saw a tiny spider that could've been up my nose.
I think the virus has passed, which would explain my multiple beers and peanut butter crackers I am eating now, or maybe it truly is just an active body type thing. If that's the case I can think of other activities for being active that don't involve scary trails, stairs, going outside or spiders up the nostril.
I saw two signs today one was affixed to a water spigot at the coffee shop it read, "Push hard until you feel the 'click'." What the hell, I'd thought. How do you feel a noise? I smirked to myself at how clever I was to identify poor wording as I grabbed a glass to fill. I stared at the word click when I pushed the glass against the spigot and sure enough I felt a 'click'. I half wanted someone to pop out and say, "That's what you get know-it-all." Hey, maybe I should drop off a resume, that sounds like a job I could do. Hell, I'd point out the idiocy in these smarty pants people for free.
The other sign I read passing by a storefront when I was riding the bus. This sign was actually a large banner that covered the entire shop and it read, "GIRLS! PRETTY DRESSES ARE HERE!!" What kind of people does this declaration attract? I'd never thought I'd have regrets but now that I remember the bold words of the cheaply-printed manifesto I wonder why I didn't hop off the bus and check out the kind of "GIRLS!" who fell for that advertising. But, the messed up thing is that if I had done that then I would be that type of girl, right?
Tonight I met up with a bunch of writers from my MFA program and found out who we really are (that may actually be my regret). We met under the idea that we were gonna spend all night writing "postcard stories" which are tiny stories that fit on an index card. (translation: a clever excuse to get wasted and feel somewhat productive) We all sat around and did our fun little activity and drank lots of beers and had a few laughs. This was all great until about an hour afterward when I thought back to some common themes that were in our stories like:
1. Getting fucked in the ear.
2. Killing animals for fun.
3. Putting eyeballs back into eye sockets, sometimes with foreign eyeballs.
4. Drag queens
5. Using the word, "motherfucker".
6. The phrase, "listening to the footsteps of perverts." (mine, thank you)
7. Biting off penises.
8. Puke/Piss/Shit
9. Being naked.
10. Bestiality.
What does that say about us as people but, more importantly, what does that say about the future of literature? I think it might be terribly exciting. If we write about this stuff maybe people will start reading again. What the hell were we all thinking with our heartfelt human stories, that's not what people want. Give them a little penis chomping and a goat and you've got a story that sells.
-Canadian Castaway
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