What a novel idea

Okay, now I'm freaking out...so I have this thing I've been writing and now I people are going to want to read it...ugh...I hate that. It's a stupid popcorn novel. At least that how it started, but after examining it today I see that I'm injecting a lot of my personal spiritual beliefs in it...

I just need to get the first one out, that one's usually crap...then I can move on. Don't get me wrong, I believe in it...but it's really just something I'm doing for me. Ya dig? Anyway, here's why I'm worried people who read it might think I'm batty:

The protagonist (with no name) dies on like the second page. The meat of the story is a spiritual journey which questions the nature of "good" and "evil." It's a metaphysical landscape so nothing makes sense. I just hope people "get it."

Anyway, I guess I won't worry about it.

Happy 10,000

I have good news (for once). Today, at 7:26 PM, I crossed the dreaded 10,000 word mark on my new novel. It's only the first 40 pages, no real reason to celebrate, but I've only accomplished this feat twice before...so yeah, I'm real excited. I started working on this thing LAST WEEK, when I suddenly aquired some free time. Since I only have one class tomorrow, as soon as I got out of class today (my last class didn't meet) I printed out what I had and started editing. Usually I find my enthusiasm dies once I re-read what it is I've written, but so far...so good. I've really been pouring myself into this and I think that this might (might) finally be something I'm able to finish!

I get excited by these things, and usually abandon them because I get so busy doing something else. So, to everyone and anyone who reads this...if something should ever happen to me--I have a request...FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND RIGHT IN THIS WORLD...PLEASE FINISH ONE OF THESE DAMN MANUSCRIPTS FOR ME! I WILL NEVER "REST IN PEACE" UNTIL I HAVE A COMPLETED NOVEL. I DON'T EVEN CARE IF IT NEVER GETS PUBLISHED. YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO DO ANY WORK...JUST TYPE "THE END" ON THE LAST PAGE I WAS WORKING ON.

Thanks!

The Last Word

This is the last thing I have to say about everything:

I'm sorry I let everyone down, and I'm sorry I'm such a fuck up. I'm imature and selfish. At the same time, I think it's really hypocritical for a parent to encourage one child to end a long term relationship and at the same time get pissed off/angry/whatever when another child does just that (6 months is 1/2 a year by the way).

I can't be all things to all people. Deal with it, that's what I'm trying to do.

Come Undone

So unimpressed but so in awe
Such a saint but such a whore
So self aware so full of shit
So indecisive so adamant
I’m contemplating thinking about thinking
It’s so frustrating just get another drink in
Watch me come undone

They’re selling razor blades and mirrors in the street
I Pray that when I’m coming down you’ll be asleep
If I ever hurt you your revenge will be so sweet
Because I’m scum
And I’m your son
I come undone
I come undone

So rock and roll so corporate suit
So damn ugly, so damn cute
So well trained, so animal
So need your love, so fuck you all
I’m not scared of dying I just don’t want to
If I stopped lying I’d just disappoint you
I come undone

They’re selling razor blades and mirrors in the street
I pray that when I’m coming down you’ll be asleep
If I ever hurt you your revenge will be so sweet
Because I’m scum
And I’m your son
I’ve come undone
So write another ballad
Mix it on a wednesday
Sell it on a thursday
Buy a yacht by saturday
It’s a love song
A love song
Do another interview
Sing a bunch of lies
Tell about celebrities that I despise
And sing love songs
We sing love songs
So sincere
So sincere

They’re selling razor blades and mirrors in the street
Pray that when I’m coming down you’ll be asleep
If I ever hurt you your revenge will be so sweet
Because I’m scum
I’m your sonI’ve come undone
I’ve come undone
I’ve come undone
I’ve come undone
I am scum
Love your son
I am scum
Love your sonYou’ve gotta love my sad song, my love song
My sad song, my love song, my sad song, my love song

Bill Clinton Syndrome

Alright, I just had a seriously weird phone call with my Mom. It's pretty bad when your Mom thinks you're no good. I am no good. I have a disease. It's called "Bill Clinton Syndrome." I can't help it...this is the way I was made. "I feel your pain" Bill...I really do. I wish I was Catholic...then I could just run away and become a priest. I've been trying to figure God out, really I have. But then I had a certain person (no names) who kept purposefully steering me away from that (out of her own self interest). I need to get on my knees, start praying. Hallelujah, amen.

Even now, my old pattern...it's happening. I have to stop, right now. This cycle of destruction and immorality...its a real bitch. I can't sleep. I don't eat. I've been chain smoking. My nerves are shot to hell (sorry). I can't think.

What would Bill do? Ah, run for public office...no. That's the last thing I need. Literally, the very last, honest to goodness...LAST fucking thing I need right now. At least I didn't cheat! I could have damn it! I may be a gutless coward, but I'm not cheating SOB. I think I have an idea, and inkling as to what the cure is. I'm afraid to say it, but I think I need to swear women off for good. I don't care if people do whisper, and think I'm a closet case...I'm gonna do it! I am! No more...no more...no more women. Why is that so hard to type? Man, could you imagine if I WAS goodlooking. Please, forget about it.

Alright, I'm done ranting and raving...and I hope...done with skits (la folda) for good! I'm serious! Until I can look my mother in the eye...no more!

Magician

Well kiddies, it seems your old pal Jason is nothing but a really good actor, a charlton, a stooge, and a scoundrel. Did we learn anything this week that we didn't already know? No, not really. I'm an oversexed, zelous, hypocrite...who lusts for more than gold (if ya get my drift). It's a low down, dirty shame. It's a goddam crime. The crime of the century. The only thing I can say for the moment is that I don't have a single regret. I can't , or won't admit to making a mistake because I can't do something against my nature. Sorry kiddies, but uncle Jason can't say "fuck up" without laughing.

I pray to God there is a hell. And I pray to God I go there...soon.

Hemingway

Hemingway was quite honestly one of the baddest MOFO's of the 20th Century. Here's why...

Dodging Smallpox
While working as a reporter for the Kansas City Star in 1917 and '18, Hemingway hones his spare writing style while covering marginal characters for the paper. He saves one of his subjects -- a smallpox-stricken homeless man -- by dragging him to the hospital when no one else will. He later charges the expenses for this rescue mission to the Star. The deadly pox doesn't take hold.

Surviving a Shelling
Hemingway is wounded in a mortar attack as he distributes chocolate and cigarettes to Italian soldiers in the trenches during World War I. He becomes soaked with blood as he carries a soldier to the first-aid station. In a letter home, he writes that they pulled 227 shrapnel fragments out of his leg and that he'll never again "look well in kilts."

Weird Hemingway Moment #23
For the first 3 years of his life, Hemingway's parents clothed him in pretty dresses and hair ribbons. The " 'fraid o' nothin' " kid worried that Santa might think he was a girl and bring the wrong presents. One of his biographers, James Mellow, lets him off easy: "Hemingway seems not to have suffered any dire psychological effect from the early cross-dressing."

Machine-Gunning Mako Sharks
During a 1931 fishing trip on his boat, the Pilar, Hemingway uses a Thompson submachine gun to fend off sharks intent on scavenging his catch -- a 500-pound tuna -- before he can hoist it onto the boat. He ends up shooting himself in both legs trying to sink a man-size mako.

Slugging Orson Welles
At a 1937 screening of the film Spanish Earth, for which Hemingway cowrote the narration, he comes to blows with the narrator, Orson Welles, because Welles wants to change some of the lines. After throwing chairs and punches in front of the crowd, the two reconcile over a bottle of whiskey.

Weird Hemingway Moment #57
Roald Dahl, kid-lit author, visited Hemingway in London during World War II. When Dahl entered his hotel room, he found Hemingway applying hair-growth elixir. The following conversation ensued:DAHL: "Why the eyedropper, Ernest?"HEMINGWAY: "To get the stuff through the hair and onto the scalp."DAHL: "But you don't have much hair to get through."HEMINGWAY: "I have enough."

Spying on Fascists
Hemingway establishes the "crook factory" in Key West, a clandestine outfit whose mission is to spy on pro-Franco and pro-Hitler agents in Cuba. The operation, which at one point consists of six full-time operatives and 20 other agents, is disbanded by the FBI less than a year after it is formed.

Chasing Nazi U-boats
After outfitting the Pilar with extra fuel tanks, grenades, and high-caliber machine guns, Hemingway and a few buddies set out to hunt Nazi U-boats in the Caribbean. It's mostly an excuse to drink to excess and employ large munitions, but that's why it's great to be Ernest Hemingway.

Weird Hemingway Moment #82
Traveling in Africa in the 1950s, Hemingway took a Masai bride while his fourth wife, Mary, was off shopping in Nairobi. A few days after Mary's return, he wrote in her diary, by way of making up: "[Mary] loves me to be her girl, which I love to be. . . . I loved feeling the embrace of Mary which came to me as something quite new and outside of tribal law." To which you can only respond, "Whoa, T.M.I."

Mixing Martinis under Fire
Hemingway is driving with a few buddies on a road near Luxembourg in 1944 when he hears the ripping sound of aircraft fire. He yells, "Jump!" and his friends fly out of the car just as it's strafed down the middle by a machine gun. While they huddle in a ditch, Hemingway uncorks his canteen to distribute premixed martinis.

Walking Away from Plane Wrecks
Touring Uganda by plane in 1954, Hemingway crash-lands when his pilot nips a telegraph wire. Twenty-four hours later, his rescue plane also crashes. Hemingway's legend grows, but the man himself doesn't fare so well. A ruptured kidney, crushed vertebrae, brain damage, and chronic pain haunt him until his death.





All this, and in 1961 he decided to kill himself...honsetly, I think it was the only way he'd have ever died. The man was a real life superhero.