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aldo o welles
I'll follow the rules and let the words splay across the computer screen without editing and without trying to crimp or cramp them and hopefully they will find some kind of peace as if they are imbued with a spirit of their own which we know they are not because they are just words, letters, strung together. I just cheated and re-read that sentence and would like to edit, rearrange, censor, make sense of it. But that's not allowed here because this is supposed to be about complete freedom except it's not complete because content or foul language can cause
I was wide awake in the middle of the night ready to write 100 words and cross out words in the middle like it has in the introduction which to me is cheating, but I thought it would be too neurotic to get up while it was still dark just to put down words that may seem to be epiphanies to me but dribble to everyone else. I can't find the spell check and I'm not even really sure about my use of the word epiphany which looks really strange, almost menacing. God, I've used up all the page. O
Doesn't anyone ever wonder: where have all the bugs gone? You can leave a bag of flour open and not one mealy worm will find its way in. This is in the city. In the country it might be different. I imagine that our bodies are filled with unimaginable despairing, writhing colonies of antlike, roachlike, spiderlike, centipedelike, crusty, slimey lifesuckers stuck inside organs with no way out…for most of them. Take them out for a walk; scream into your bellybutton "THE SUN IS OUT! GOD IS GOOD!" How can that only be 87 words? I have nothing more to say.
Now I'm stuck. It is corny to say between a rock and a hard place. Between a rock and a soft place. Between something soft and something even softer. If you are stuck between two soft things are you stuck? That is really tragic to be stuck between two soft things. Unless you are a...no...however you look at it if you feel stuck then you are pathetic. No matter...even if it's a hard place, you are still pathetic. The dog is begging to be let out. He makes a little grunting noise. The bed creaks upstairs. Now it stopped.
Many winners are just big losers. They fought a losing battle valiently. They went down with the ship and their corpses floated while others got eaten by sharks or sank to the bottom to get tangled in seaweed. I prefer to drink martinis and watch my midriff bulge, sing ditties, tell off challengers, cry because I can't ride a horse, sleep when I should be working with my face in chocolate pudding, work with my face in chocolate pudding? I'm not sure what that means but who cares. Feed pigeons and let them poop on my shoulder. Diddle dee dum.
I have a sketch for each 100 words. There is not enough time for all of this so I have a throbbing ache behind my right eye. I lie about truth sometimes and I tell the truth at inappropriate times. Examples? He met his future wife by being her pen pal while he was in jail for dragging someone to death, no, I mean he met his future wife by being her pen pal while he was in the army. I lost my train of thought. I have a pain in my eye and in my butt. Coccydynia. The end.
Each day that passes, each minute, second, brings little hope, cheer, little inner melody, inner expansion, little reason for jubilation. There is no time for anything. The clocks have sped up to make life tiring and jarring and stale. This is how it is when all your life your shoes are too tight and you have to wear eyeglasses. This is why sleep is a sweet release and sleepwalking would be out of the question. All I really need right now is 75 words not 100. With 75 there would be time for a quick sketch of shoes and eyeglasses.
Oh god i forgot to do my words today or i almost forgot and now it's too late because my honey is on the way and i will have to stop as soon as i hear the car and now i'm entering this directly without a word counter so i'll have to copy/paste over to microsoft word and tally up before the front door opens so i better do it right now....and it was only 28 now minus..........oh shit...there's the door and i left for 10 minutes and now have the neighbor's cat in the house and cannot explain yet
I have only had a martini once in my life. My beverage of preference is red wine. A glass to two glasses almost every night. Lately I keep thinking that my lips are permanently stained purple. Some of the wine must be too cheap. There is alcoholism in my family background. I never knew my great grandfather, but have heard that he beat one of his daughters on the legs and that is why she had varicose veins later in life. I mixed fantasy with reality our of fear, but I don't know who I fear. Maybe it's the boogeyman.
I've been reading your entries and I think a lot of you cheat. I thought we wrote off the tops of our heads without editing. Who are you people trying to kid with all your fancy wording and no typos or misspelled words and the poetry and stuff? And your endings sum up your thoughts. And you make sense. So theatrical. Here. I turned the volume down on the Jay Leno show because there was some rock band making too much noise. It is 12:35 a.m. I hear cars and busses outside. And muffled, garbled, distant voices. Bed bugs bite.
I just noticed that there's a word counter for email. Hope you have a peaceful Easter. The Russians are the holiest people I know. My husband's friends gave me a fancy hard boiled egg to eat for breakfast as part of a tradition and they went to Church last night and are probably going to Church today. We were taught that Russians were against God and would deserve being bombed. Are all these Russians around me undercover atheist spies for Russia? I hope the egg didn't contain some weird poison or a recording device that will sit in my stomach.
It is not easy to write with a dog making caw sounds at your feet. Or maybe they are better described as k sounds. It means he wants to play. I have anxiety and woke early. Be quiet I say to the dog. Shut up. Now I have lost all incentive to write. Incentive is not the right word but I can't even think. A slice of life. That sounds cruel and painful. This is city life. My windows facing the street are inner lined with reflective sheets of some kind of silver stuff so no one can see in.
I sit with a half glass of red wine in my plaid bathrobe with the gaping hole near the hem listening to the cars and busses passing the window wondering …I can't even finish a thought. The dog just peed for no reason. He's a nice dog, but when he dies I might be relieved. I could have been a foster parent or done something for a human with fewer demands than being a dog owner. When he dies I will really be done with animals. He can't last more than 5 years. 7 more words to go. I'm done.
It is quite astonishing to see how disjointed thoughts look on paper as words strung together or as sketches, unrelated ideas in need of being shuffled. Tidy. Neat and tidy. My neck is strung out ready to be wrung. It can crack any second. Feels like my head can just come rolling down. I live near water, but never go to see it. Correction. I see it through a window while at work. Work taints the idea of water as cleansing, calming. This is where Jesus comes in to walk on water and lead us to the sea of Galilee.
I'm in the country now and look past the wooden shutter opened against the computer monitor. See oak trees and sloping green land. The only sound is the computer gurgling. I hear the bathroom faucet drip. Outside I know that the only sound is that of a miniature plane, the combined hum of many aggressive flies. They like to follow me when I walk. In the summer they try to get past my eyeglasses to dive into my eyes. There goes a jackrabbit up the path. He stopped and looked back at me when I stood for a better view.
Dreams take over the night in the country. A house from childhood began filling with bats. On my way to escape I found our long dead family dog in a square kitchen. I made sure all its doors shut tight to keep out the bats. The dog was alive but I didn't think to bring her with me. Outside looking up at the windows I saw a brother, father, a group of family members. I wrote a note on a page that was filled with print already to hold up for my brother to read. What about my bird dream?
Sleeping in white cotton underpants and t-shirt. In the next scene David and I are in the Marina. There are apartment buildings shaped like wedding cakes with tiers. David knows the name of this type of architecture but I doubt there are buildings like this in Australia. We go into a building that had been burglarized. I expect it to be empty. We find ourselves in a full room of people. There is a closet that has old Christmas presents stored on a shelf. Two games...Cinderella and Cosmopolitan. Cinderella was from Mom to Dad. Cosmopolitan was from me to Dad.
I've waited until past midnight. The television is on in the other room. No one is watching. My sketches have nothing to do with my 100 words but I still put them together. Has the computer turned me into a moron? Maybe I would be a moron anyway? I sketched Gregory Peck as Atticus in To Kill a Mockingbird. My spelling might be off but I feel like I'm not supposed to check. I hiccup because I drank red wine tonight. Anxiety. Why? Nothing in my life should cause me pain, a reason to be nervous, anxiety, worry, depression, anger
While at work inspiration shows itself as a tiny bird who likes to eat fermented berries. Now I don't remember thoughts that may have only pretended to be noble introductions to homilies. What the heck is a homily? I know it is something religious. One recovered thought: my best friend was a horse, and she didn't even like me that much. I let her down in the end. It is hard to think about how she was when she was dying. She couldn't stand although we tried. It was pathetic. Dear God, we must have made you up. A psychosis.
Ten minutes ‘til midnight. Trying to be a stickler about writing each day. There isn't much time left here. No time to live. There is much to appreciate. The house above Bay Street that looks like a huge Tudor cottage. The spry older woman with the short grey hair who always wears pants and knows the dog by name. Doug the homeless man who disappeared after he said he was going to the hospital because he was diagnosed with cancer. He was or is a kind old soul who is missed. What else do I really like? Cherry chocolate bread.
Made the mistake of opening the compost can in the apartment. Fruit flies are trying to nest in my hair. The dog is eating his late night ritual snack. I have email to answer. Relatives. We have so many stories that are waiting to come out after most of us die. Who will write them? If I don't write my own about me, then I'll end up being a different person to my descendants. Takes 50 years to discover your grandfather was not who your mother said he was. That guy was a figment created by a 16 year old.
Mimicry is what I heard. He knew what he was up to. Laugh, sneer then sleep, my dear. Do me a favor, don't call me. The piece of my mind is at the door. The dirt is under the rug. And all of a sudden the luggage is worn and nothing is hovering softly. Paint and silver, matches and weeds cover the gloss of the accent. Heaving and sorting and ambulance mocking over the clearance of intention. I didn't cry. I didn't do it. I didn't make sense like he did. I'm a wee one and can't touch my eyes.
There was nothing to own then. Time was spent dancing, doing art. That was the life. The earth was revered, respected, awe-inspiring. I'm not crazy. Maybe I should spend $5.00 on a lightbulb that pretends to be the sun. Why does my green apple not rot? It is still perfect after weeks and weeks in the refrigerator. I took it out this morning. Set in on the table. Maybe when it gets to room temperature it will go bad. Oh God, the dog wants out. As it should be. I sit in my raincoat but it's sunny out. Oh well.
I screamed for help in my dream and my spouse pushed me awake. My two sisters had small extra hands. It was actually on one arm. They each had a hand with another hand growing alongside. That wasn't what made me scream. I had gone to the basement to check the lock on the door. The door was pushing open no matter what. I kept fiddling with the lock to no avail. Then I saw a Frankenstein figure through the small window on the door. As the door opened.. I scream as loud as possible hoping neighbors would hear me.
This is not constructive and is a waste of time. Ten thoughts just floated in and out at such a speed that I couldn't catch……I was just called away and almost forgot I had this sitting here. A man stands outside the window talking, reminding me of the guy with the radio who stops every late afternoon to look at himself in the reflective coating. I called the police. They said close my blinds. I said it's one thing to look at your reflection, but why does he have to use his hands as blinders so he can peek inside?
I'm dead tired. Hungry. Ate baby carrots. Can't think. Knees hurt. Bartender was drunk. Mime last night was drunk. The silver guy. He jumped off his box and pushed down a man who was walking with his wife. He was using four letter words and gave the finger. The mime. To everyone passing by. Eating more baby carrots. This time with vinegar. Got fat. Eyeing the vinegar. Might drink it. Drinking vinegar. Tastes pretty good. Just backed out a few words. That's cheating. Might get kicked off site. Will lie and deny everything. 7 more words to go. Good bye.
An egg is boiling. The dog and I already took a 2 hour walk early this morning. A man was just getting up under a tree up the path that we take. He slept there. His black cat scrambled down from the tree to scratch my dog. We know them. I gave him $5.00 one day to feed his cat. He yelled at it today for trying to bully the dog and told it that he hopes a big dog gets it. I was laughing, but felt bad for the cat. He, I'm sure, thought he was protecting his man.
An animal ate our pet turkey. There were batches of feathers: near the house and near the clearing between trees. From a bird's aerial view they would look like the above colon. Is that the spelling for colon? The crown of his head was in the clearing. The feathers were exotic with stripes and iridescent color. How can we eat such a creature? Hours have elapsed. I got called away. I am eating cherry pie and drinking decaf with half and half. I washed the turkey feathers and will scan them and insert them with these words for my journal.
I love the taste of turkey, but try to not eat it. I eat fake turkey which is grown from mold-like spores or something--in a vat. I'm eating fake chicken right now. Slaughterhouse videos are traumatizing showing animals screaming, crying, being terrorized. I sell dead creatures for a living and not all of them come in dead. We have boiling water waiting for them. When I was vegetarian I had guilt. The veggies are alive, too. I thought I heard a plant scream once when I pulled it out of the ground in the garden. The world is psychotic.
A package arrived from a long lost relative. Tears. My grandfather's photo on the front cover of sheet music that he wrote. My grandmother as a young girl with a beautiful, exotic face. Catlike oval eyes. Snippets of their lives. Snippets. That must be a word. I know that my life is just a snippet and that what is remembered about me might be totally false. Or twisted. But. We all want the truth. My grandfather's truth was that he was a musician and actor. My mother said he was an alcoholic who kept running off. Can't sum it up.
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