My mind wanders when i write stuff i don't care about.
Here's a thought. You and me, we spend way too much time online, likely as not. Do you have a system for when you die?
I think the name for it is Dead Man's Switch. What happens when you leave? Is your password written neatly in a diary somewhere? I figure, why not program your email so that if you haven't logged on for 3-5 weeks, it leaves you for dead, sends an email with important life data things to your mom, lover, or lawyer, whoever cares the most, pre-composed messages for your friends, "YOU KINDA ARE CRAP, I WILL BE ANGRY WITH YOU FROM THE GRAVE STILL" type messages to your enemies, and a grand finale, swan song piece for your secret masterpiece you have been tinkering for years of your sad little nothing life will be set loose on the world.
Your painting's locale is finally shared. Your son in Greece knows at last that orphan no more, his anonymous and now dead, wealthy benefactor is his father and he'd never know him or why. Your manuscript gets sent to a publisher, care of your favourite person. The key to the lost language of Zacamortien that you've been decoding, long solved and hoarded, sent to the University you detested while living. Or if you are an unselfish, boring person, your meagre life savings are donated to NKF, the first charity name to float to your indifferent mind. Money for the living souls, because you have nothing else to feed it.
So if you ever want to start from scratch - sell your life, give away the cat, pack a rucksack and set off without warning to be a performing, travelling, free-wheeling flame-juggler, don't forget to set the Dead Man's Switch in place to remind you why you aren't.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
More about me than you'd care to know.
I'm very fussy about what grammar that i know is true and will only knowingly, with much consideration and angsty inner-debate, break grammar rules. But i'm rather rubbish at spelling.
I'm extremely chilled out about things starting on time, a memory-rich, treasured necklace that went missing for months, because i know that they'd happen as they should, and it'll always come back to me. But if i can't declare the exact status of a friendship or relationship important to me to my liking, i can be so uneasy that i subconsciously take extreme measures to test the bonds, create subtly-challenging ultimatums that they won't ever know they failed and distance so that i can see if they are necessary to me. i may judge them hastily and short-change them of development and nuance. Post-mortem reflection is how i know i even did it to begin with.
I can't kiss in front of tudong-wearing women. But... heh, er, well. hmm, you know. o hai! this cover band jive talkin' is really great.
IF a book truly intrigues me, i'd avoid all googling, refuse to read the foreword (which i usually dissect), sypnosis, reviews, author bio, credits page or extract. Even glancing at the author's mugshot OR taking a closer look at the cover art is forbidden, for fear of any delicious spoilers. After the eplilogue i'd google the shit out of it and moan moan moan that Borders won't stock the sequels fast enough, what is Mr Author doing besting scores in Dragons and Dungeons instead of writing and how silly his editor must be. i've been known to sprout obscure facts about obscure things that no one cares about, only because an author i used to admire once mentioned it in an interview she did in 1995 that someone did a crappy scan in of. Er, usually say i read it in a magazine. usually, Time. Now you know otherwise.
the bare bones histories of my favourite bands, i don't know. I like their music, and sometimes the titles of the songs i like and that's enough.
I've hacked into my thumb so badly it obviously needed stitches and only put a band-aid on it. the pain and 1.5 hands i lived with for months and didn't care that it's scared much worse than it should have. Shopping makes me comparatively super vain.
I've got hundreds upon hundreds of pet peeves piled up, stoning off into the sunset and gathering dust on their staring eyeballs because they are the ones that haven't been voiced. if you knew just 11 of them it will badly incapitate your ability to be natural around me, that's how varigated and detailed they are. too-fussy people is one of my pet peeves.
i jaywalk even more slowly if the bugger in the car screws up my calculated distance-time estimation of his vehicle by intentionally speeding up or failing to signal (when i'm alone and only risking my own life). you know how people measure fabric once and cut twice? i measure 4 or 5 times and arrange the pattern pieces and trim closely because, shruck mahhn, don't want to waste fabric! that 1cm by 6cm piece could have been better utilised!
Final proof that i am rather schizophrenic and overly ambivalent: taking a personality quiz that returns not one, not a coincidental two, not even fluke-possible three, but five results, because
So if i express a thousand differing opinions, i'm a happy hypocrite. If you weren't, would you want to live in my head?
I'm extremely chilled out about things starting on time, a memory-rich, treasured necklace that went missing for months, because i know that they'd happen as they should, and it'll always come back to me. But if i can't declare the exact status of a friendship or relationship important to me to my liking, i can be so uneasy that i subconsciously take extreme measures to test the bonds, create subtly-challenging ultimatums that they won't ever know they failed and distance so that i can see if they are necessary to me. i may judge them hastily and short-change them of development and nuance. Post-mortem reflection is how i know i even did it to begin with.
I can't kiss in front of tudong-wearing women. But... heh, er, well. hmm, you know. o hai! this cover band jive talkin' is really great.
IF a book truly intrigues me, i'd avoid all googling, refuse to read the foreword (which i usually dissect), sypnosis, reviews, author bio, credits page or extract. Even glancing at the author's mugshot OR taking a closer look at the cover art is forbidden, for fear of any delicious spoilers. After the eplilogue i'd google the shit out of it and moan moan moan that Borders won't stock the sequels fast enough, what is Mr Author doing besting scores in Dragons and Dungeons instead of writing and how silly his editor must be. i've been known to sprout obscure facts about obscure things that no one cares about, only because an author i used to admire once mentioned it in an interview she did in 1995 that someone did a crappy scan in of. Er, usually say i read it in a magazine. usually, Time. Now you know otherwise.
the bare bones histories of my favourite bands, i don't know. I like their music, and sometimes the titles of the songs i like and that's enough.
I've hacked into my thumb so badly it obviously needed stitches and only put a band-aid on it. the pain and 1.5 hands i lived with for months and didn't care that it's scared much worse than it should have. Shopping makes me comparatively super vain.
I've got hundreds upon hundreds of pet peeves piled up, stoning off into the sunset and gathering dust on their staring eyeballs because they are the ones that haven't been voiced. if you knew just 11 of them it will badly incapitate your ability to be natural around me, that's how varigated and detailed they are. too-fussy people is one of my pet peeves.
i jaywalk even more slowly if the bugger in the car screws up my calculated distance-time estimation of his vehicle by intentionally speeding up or failing to signal (when i'm alone and only risking my own life). you know how people measure fabric once and cut twice? i measure 4 or 5 times and arrange the pattern pieces and trim closely because, shruck mahhn, don't want to waste fabric! that 1cm by 6cm piece could have been better utilised!
Final proof that i am rather schizophrenic and overly ambivalent: taking a personality quiz that returns not one, not a coincidental two, not even fluke-possible three, but five results, because
"If more than one window opens (after the quiz), there was a tie."
So if i express a thousand differing opinions, i'm a happy hypocrite. If you weren't, would you want to live in my head?
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