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July 2008
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cynicalvalkryie [userpic]

Something something about indolence... And a kernel of shame all hard and hot in the bottom of my stomach protesting to it, to that and my stumbling words. I swear before I had some sense of articulation, of c'est a dire "turning a phrase", but the very moment I need it is like some gunshot, and all the pretty, sturdy words perching on my tongue scatter, leaving the crusty-winged crows of monosyllabic idiocy and stumbling inconfidence to hobble up and over the corners of my mouth like I was a fucking retard. Only really to say that I suck at talking to people, especially about jobs. OH KITTY KAT HI.

Everybody should read The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Klay. After hearing Mr. Martin say it was the best book he'd read in five years, I knew I had to read it. In regards to literature, film, comics, and cheese, I have never known him to be wrong or to give very strong praise to anything.

So have I been reading every waking minute this new book, at once startling in its ripe style, its content daring and refreshing but somehow realistic and immersive enough to get all lost and cuddly in. Settings, ideas, characters, trains of thought are all linked in a fluid way that makes you look back and read it over, to pinpoint the exact point at which an idea transforms into another, like the second thought in a dream when you wonder where exactly you are when the Chinese ballroom becomes your second grade classroom becomes the janitorial closet of a U-Boat.

In other news, while I may be looking forward to classes at college, to driving finally on my own, to the implicit freedom all those things bear on my spirit and my burgeoning desire to grow and encompass more than the littered corners of my fantasies, I am not looking forward to making phone calls to insurance brokers, to bumble along with the maggoty crows of the vocabulary hobbled by my own nervousness, and not at all partial to counting paper cranes, making lunch, etc. But muscle, I understand, is built upon at the cellular level, and all increasing increments of heft and strength by any amount of exercise are still increments increasing.

I'm just emptying my head. None of it is supposed to make sense. You'd be surprised at the amount of shit speeding around in my cranium. If we were to continue this metaphor of words to birds, and somebody say metaphorically emptied out the contents of my head like tapping out pesto from a food processor, the resultant sludge would look much like liquefied chicken.