Heh heh... Yardstick
Fuck writing. I will play my guitar and crysturbate.
Do you know what it's like to fall in love with an idea?
It was mid-September when I first sat on the Hyatt's roof. A typical Atlanta September night, a balmy sort of breeze that was especially evident as we watched the city sprawl and stretch around our group. I would describe the night as perfect now, as I sit here typing in my cold apartment, but it was really typical for early fall in Atlanta, and I didn't give the weather much additional thought.
The really interesting thing about that night was the city. I think that night was the first time I thought of a city as a living being or perhaps an idea.
I'm trying to avoid watching this sad pile of guitar picks sitting next to my keyboard. Don't judge me too harshly, I'm not insensitive,
Do you know how fucking frustrating this is? I've been starting and stopping for the last half hour, and all I've written is the crap above.
The problem with knowing I'm awesome, is that I expect all my work to be awesome, and then I get annoyed when it's sub-par.
Fuck. Maybe I'll just write a story about masturbation, or doing coke off a zombie-hooker's ass.
If I hand you a story that begins, "so I was measuring my self today with a laser measuring device (I can't reach far enough to use a ruler, and I didn't have a yardstick available), and I noticed that the zombie whore in the corner was looking really sexy...", Do Not Read It. Reading that story will lead to madness, and possibly jealousy.
Do you know what it's like to fall in love with an idea?
It was mid-September when I first sat on the Hyatt's roof. A typical Atlanta September night, a balmy sort of breeze that was especially evident as we watched the city sprawl and stretch around our group. I would describe the night as perfect now, as I sit here typing in my cold apartment, but it was really typical for early fall in Atlanta, and I didn't give the weather much additional thought.
The really interesting thing about that night was the city. I think that night was the first time I thought of a city as a living being or perhaps an idea.
I'm trying to avoid watching this sad pile of guitar picks sitting next to my keyboard. Don't judge me too harshly, I'm not insensitive,
Do you know how fucking frustrating this is? I've been starting and stopping for the last half hour, and all I've written is the crap above.
The problem with knowing I'm awesome, is that I expect all my work to be awesome, and then I get annoyed when it's sub-par.
Fuck. Maybe I'll just write a story about masturbation, or doing coke off a zombie-hooker's ass.
If I hand you a story that begins, "so I was measuring my self today with a laser measuring device (I can't reach far enough to use a ruler, and I didn't have a yardstick available), and I noticed that the zombie whore in the corner was looking really sexy...", Do Not Read It. Reading that story will lead to madness, and possibly jealousy.
posted by Fifth at 11:03 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home