9-29-05

Well, shit. Wasn't that just the bee's knees. Forgive my unexpected expletive, but I just cleaned up at least two full cans of Cherry Pepsi on the carpet next to the computer. Filthy cats, spillng my pop and the can my brother had left there to waste. Naturally, I get blamed for it. Ah, well. It could always be worse, I suppose.

Anyways, on now to business. This is my first typed entry, and the first entry that will technically be saved, since the storm hit and I unceremoniously lost my binder. Well, to be fair, this is the first journal I've really done since then at all, not counting the one in class, but come on. I lost all that work. It's rather disheartening.

But, as always, I ponder incessantly the nature of the night's writing. Normally it's just enough to let my fingers be a direct link from my brain, yet, sometimes, I wonder if perhaps I should persue something more... Meaningful. Not that I intend to do anything with it, you understand, or even really care about expanding my already prodigious writing skills. It's just that the normal journaling style works for me very little, as my two prior entries show, and my mind has a tendancy to wander where it will.

Say what you will about it, but at least I'm writing.

And it's not like I'm dropping the f-bomb every other word, graphically depicting myself butchered by my own hand over a lost love, or writing smut. A little bit of these might make an appearance either now, or in a future journal, but undoubdetly only in jest, as is my nature. Satire for the win, afterall.

I have now been writing for six minutes, and my fingers are already tired. It doesn't even look like I've been writing for that long. Surely the content, which by now could be classified entirely as 'drivel', is entirely lacking in the sheer length that the former (but not first) entry was able to bring about. Maybe it just looks longer because I quote Captain Planet.

He is a hero, afterall. And such splendor could account for quite a number of miracles.

And, again, I must continue writing. So I'll simply write about nothing as my mind desperately sends it's probing tendrils into the vast, and often disturbing region of my subconscious that most likely holds the secret to my normal way with words. It seems to me that it is lost at the moment, writer's block and all that shit, but I shall keep writing as I hopefully fulfill my quota.

The prospect is bleak, for only an additional two minutes have passed, bringing the total up to eight. Certainly it's past the half way point, but Jesus. There are far more interesting things I could be doing right now that could otherwise be relevant to the class. And these things have nothing to do with gerunds, I assure you. That particular part of speech shall forever be my enemy, no matter how often I am making use of it.

What I really would like to do at the moment is hit a very bad, but very, very open online forum known as Gaia Online. If you ever bring this up in class, I'm sure you'll get recognition. It's some forum that's reputedly for all ages, but more often than not you get people posting bad microsoft paint renditions of their genitals, which have a very unhealthy colour to them, or starting a thread with this title. I shit you not.

"I'm going on thirteen and he's going on thirty-four. Am I weird?"

This does not even begin to display the depth of my hatred for this forum. It's also a known recapticle for the shittiest of poems, some of them even include netspeak. If you want to see bad poetry, my dear Ms. Rachel, I'm sure I could easily hook you up with the worst humanity has had to offer.

Speaking of poetry, our school library has no copy of Beowulf. I had tried to find a copy, as I've been attempting to for the past however long, and it has eluded me once again. They have a literary, historical, and creative analysis of the piece, but that's shit when I just want to read the fucking poem. Kim, one of the women in the IMC, said that they had placed an order, but that it could take one damnably long time. Ah,well. I'll simply have to find it somewhere else, or sit myself down comfortably until my second senior year which will undoubdetly find it's way to me, no matter what I do to defend myself from it's terrible clutches.

Life's a bitch, neh?