I really need to write, but I'm in one of those ambiguous moods that really hinders creativity. I know something must come out, but then I edit it before it even leaves my fingertips. My longer-than-usual fingertips. I feel like a Tennessee Walking Horse trying to get used to walking in my big shoes. I have these lovely purple nails that are huge to me, and very modest for everyone else.
Rambling about nothing... tune out here if you were expecting a revelation... I also found a hat. I love hats. I feel like they lend so much character to one's face. So many cultures have hats, but ours seems reduced to cowboys and baseball players. Yuck. Actually, my hat is a black felt beret, complete with the little stem coming out of the top like I have a squishy black plum on my head. I feel very artsy wearing it. Bohemian even. Mock me if you will, but I like being bohemian. There is something so hypocritical and pretentious about it, really. You buck capitalism to make art, just to sell it back to the establishment. But I kind of like that. It's like taking the "cool" road back to the bank. Yeah, cat, I'm cool... Yeah man... I'm going to win the next Project Greenlight... if there is one. The guy who won is a total Nancy-Boy with some dumb fucking after school special about 7-year-old boys and religion. Hmmm.... What does that bring to mind?
I explained antidisestablishmentarianism to someone last Friday.
He thought it would make a cool name for a band.
I just never get anywhere do I?
I think I will end this entry on an Angsty note, because I always get more responses that way, even though Angst for me is more a defunct coffeeshop than a state of mind.
O, Angst! My only refuge of swaddling blackness in this world so full of... blackness... uh, yeah...The staple gun goes *click* when I permanently attach my hand to my forehead as a sign of total devotion to my despair.
One lonely tear stains my pale cheek.