Oh well, any excuse to get hammered on cheap margaritas, I guess.
Americans celebrating an unlikely Mexican victory over the French.
Is victory against the French unlikely, or inevitable?
A fair wind blew on that day. It was chilly, but the breeze that rushed across my face was warm, comforting and carried the unmistakable sweet scent of spring rain.
It was chilly but the breeze was warm but it's spring-- whatever.
I stood with my hands buried in the pockets of my tweed blazer. Why I chose to wear this ridiculous thing is beyond me, after all, it's not like you would care.
Hey good point. I wouldn't care.
Effective storytelling at its finest.
If I recall correctly, you even told me once that you liked me for not putting on airs and feeling obligated to dress myself up.
You, not putting on airs?
Well you could knock me over with a feather.
Voices are passing by me now, but I don't see their sources, only dark lumps of upright shapes seeming to float past me like drift wood on the sea.
I feel like there's an obvious song reference I'm missing here--
I stare blankly at the cherry wood chair in front of me, noting all of the swirls and knots in its form.
Wait, shut up. Something is coming to me.
Nope, it passed.
I stand to join the line forming in the isle.
Yet some how, my mind isn't paying any attention at all.
Aisle? Perhaps she does mean isle, this is all so opaque and metaphysical who even knows where she is or what the fuck is happening?
I see your pale skin instead, remembering the way the sheets would drape over your bare waist and hip. The gray-blue color of the linen played a beautiful part in accenting your complexion.
Oh fuck me, waiting for something to happen. It's like I'm really reading something for school!
WORDS WORDS WORDS
But I struggled with the fact that if I chose to see you, my last memory of your slender features would be a lifeless one.
Like dust in the wind, dude.
Deep.
Time for a quick writing lesson:
the three most important things for a story are context, characters and plot.
Context, meaning the setting and all that background shit, is especially important for setting up the other bits because one context can and will change the tone in relation to the other things.
Take, for example, my previous mention of Cinco de Mayo: if you're Mexican it's a great celebratory day of heroes and shit, but if you're French it's probably more along the lines of "those damn rebels". The entire context of your story shifts simply by picking France or Mexico.
This story has no context, and therefore I immediately don't give a shit because I feel lost and don't really care to catch up because you also don't have any compelling characters so their struggle is totally irrelevant and obnoxious to me.
Finally you have no plot, because indeed nothing happens in the first, what, 200 or so words?
Your first goal in opening a story is to make me give a shit. Let's compare your opening with some of the most successful openings in history:
Midway in the journey of our life I came to myself in a dark wood, for the straight way was lost.
Immediately you want to know what he's talking about, so you keep reading. Why was the straight way lost? Why did he find himself suddenly in a dark wood? These are details you want to know, and notice he uses almost no description at all to paint this image.
What do you know about the woods? Nothing, besides it's dark, and yet you know exactly what he means. Go easy with description, it weighs your shit down. Here's another good one:
Today my mother died.
What, why? And one more, to ram my point home:
These are the times that try men's souls.
Now let's compare that with yours:
A fair wind blew on that day.
Oh. So?
Anyway, moving on from bad writing.
Well, I guess I'm still reading this blog so that's a given, but moving on from this bad post.
Why is everyone always fucked up, but never fucked down?
Hurrrrrrr
Never throw a rock down a well. You never know when something is going to throw it back at you from the other side.
... That doesn't even make sense.
Things seem to keep slipping through my fingers lately. Maybe I'm just being dramatic, or maybe I'm going through a downer cycle. Whatever the reason, I feel redundant and hollow
Well-- wow I just noticed you have some bizarre bold font on this. "I" in "I'm" and "am"-- oh I see. You're a fucking derp. If you are to read just the bold part, it spells out "I am redundant and hollow". Wow, real secretive.
Even though I have my guardian, I am still very far from being saved. I've come to realize that the only one who can save me, is myself. The only trouble is, the hero in me, only wants to save other people. So, I guess even the warrior is lazy too. Damn.
Anyone know what the shit is going on? I see the "secret" code continues but frankly who gives a shit--
Oh wait, I know. I have a secret code for you, and make sure to only read the bold part, now: you're a cunt.
I've come to notice that no matter how trusting people are in each other, there are always suspicions. The cold clawing of mistrust is never far behind in relationships.
A suspicious mind is a healthy mind.
But still, one might wonder what prompted such a philosophical train of thought, and the simple answer is there is no reason. We're in for the long haul with this blog, people.
I left Texas on the 5th of September,
TEXAS.
Suddenly everything makes sense.
Good cannot defeat bad.
Bad cannot defeat good.
In a world where there is neither good nor bad,
there can be no victor but the nothingness that is us.
... What?
If good and bad don't exist, how can good and bad fight?
You're stupid. This is stupid.
I didn't really like you all that much to begin with.
Then the feeling is mutual.
When I met you, I thought you were cool, you shared my love for the mystics.
But the problem was that I learned you actually live and breathe in that world.
Anyone? Anyone know what's going on?
Now you say that you like me? How can you like me if all we talk about is ghouls?
Uhhhhh, trick question?
You seem like you try so hard to fit into that world. Werewolves, Vampires, Ghosts, Spirits, Devils, Shadows. You try too hard, you're stories sound like some hokey fifty dollar movie production, or a lame campfire spook story.
You are stories sound like some hokey fifty dollar movie production.
Brilliant.
This is odd, I finally have a place to write my thoughts down, but now I have nothing to write!!
Maybe if I just start writing about random stuff, more interesting things will pop into my head to jot down. I hope so!!
In fact! I think I just figured something out to write about!
And there the post ends. I guess whatever interesting thing she found to write is a secret to us. All boring, all the time! It's Banefulvexation's blog (Jesus Christ).
I loved this person very much, I never met this person, only talked to this person. But in that I learned so much, because you see, that's all that we could do, it was never a 'lust' or physical thing.
Commas.
They were more than just my love you see, and even if they didn't love me like they said, I wouldn't care because they were still my best friend, they don't have to love me for me to love them, and that was enough for me. Lol
Whatever.
Would I find their name in the obituaries one day and cry knowing that I would never be able to meet this person, and that I wasn't able to be there for them if they had wanted to see me before they died? Its dreadfully morbid I know.. Plus I'm babbling and not making any sense..
No! You, not making any sense? I don't believe it!
So at this point I shall shut up.
Goodnight.
Poor display overall, I must say. And this is her very first entry too, awww. All the way from stardate 2007. Well I will give her one thing, at least she doesn't update her blog constantly. She waits until she really has something to say (har har) and focuses on one meaningful, entertaining post at a time.
No comments:
Post a Comment