Long Slow Goodbye

I’m taking a sabbatical from the internet. I won’t be blogging, I won’t be on MSN, I won’t be online period.

A] I’m not dead.
B] I’m not dying.

Parting observations;

A] Hamilton smells like rotten eggs.
B] Hamilton really, really smells bad.

26

A] I hadn’t heard anything by Bloc Party until today.
B] Yes, that means I’m musically retarded.
C] Holy fuck they’re sweet.
D] The lead vocalist sounds like Murray from The Dears.
E] The Dears and Bloc Party have 2 completely different sounds but I ❤ them both.
F] I think Bloc Party would be cooler if they spelled their name as ‘Bloq Party.’
G]????
H]PROFIT!!!
I] Not in team.
J] The most beautiful woman in the world wore 1 red shoe and 1 black shoe.
K] The Killers are about as radio friendly as it gets.
L] God is dead, but so is Neitzche, so nobody wins.
M]
N] I really would like you better if we slept together.
O] Morning View is the worst Incubus album.
P] Make Yourself is King.
Q] TNG’s is better than Bond’s.
R] I wonder why M] was blank?
S] Does it matter?
T] Nope.
U] Are the only one that can fuck your shit up the worst.
V] Chat lingo and ‘leet’ speak are the greatest enemy’s facing the written language.
W] You don’t even want to know this one.
X] I’ll give you a hint.
Y] It’s about the horrors happening when instead we focus on E! Talk Daily.
Z] It’s about you.

A snippet, for your pleasure and/or pain

Two years before The Great Death a young man named Timothy Winston sat drinking a cup of coffee in a small 24-hour diner. His eyes were so glazed over in shock that he didn’t even notice that the waitress had been flirting with him.

Tim was a good guy damnit, world-weary and maybe a little confused but ultimately a good guy. At least that’s what he told himself as he downed the last of his coffee. At least that’s what he had told himself hours earlier as he held the dead body of Claire Donavon. Blood trickled out of her mouth, which gaped open in a frozen scream of terror. He couldn’t ever remember how it all had started. He remembered the movie, dinner and the sex in the car afterwards. The sex had been great, but that had been the reason why had he taken Claire out.

She was a naughty little thing, a rich girl part from a country that no one cared about and probably wouldn’t have been able to pronounce. It was suspected that she had only availed herself to the exchange student program to experiment with new guys and gals.

But how had her blood gotten on his shirt? How was he going to clean up his father’s car? What was he to do with the rigid corpse of what had once been one Mrs. Claire Donavon? Was there anyone that would remember the two of them? Would they be able to point out that he had been the last person to see her alive and breathing?

Rubbing his face Tim paused to take off his shirt and wrapped it around Claire. He cursed under his breath as he unceremoniously dumped her into the trunk of the car. He would burn her corpse but he couldn’t figure out where. Or maybe he’d dump it in the river, he wasn’t sure. But he knew that he would be safe once he was rid of her body.

Driving along the night his mind was a blur and he knew that he had to calm down. He was going to burn out if he didn’t stop for a while. Seeing the lights of a diner ahead he pulled in figuring to get some caffeine to calm his jilted nerves. But what if someone broke into his car and found her body? He pushed this and many similar thoughts aside as he walked into the diner. He half expected someone to jump up from a table and point at him screaming “Murder! Death! Kill!”

He sat himself down in a stall and picked up the menu. A busty waitress walked over with a smile but his head was clouded that he didn’t notice that she had unbuttoned the top few buttons on her blouse. She bent down slightly when she spoke to him.

“Can I get you anything,” she asked with a wink, the emphasis in her words obviously on ‘anything.’

“Coffee, black and hot.”

The waitress stood beside the stall for a moment before leaving in a huff to get his coffee. It was only after the waitress had brought him his coffee and he had downed it all that Tim was able to manage a smile. He even managed a chuckle as he placed a five-dollar bill on the table with his phone number on it.

His smile grew as he left the diner and by the time he was driving away back into the night his laughter echoed in the confines of the vehicle. He could have sworn that he heard Claire joining in from the trunk.

He had always believed that everyone was beneath him, that he was a god amongst men, but he had chalked that up to teenage hormones stroking his ego. In the moment he had ended Claire’s existence he had an epiphany. It was like the Gates of Heaven and Hell had opened up for him and he was seated next to The Devil and God Themselves.

He made a mistake, he knew. He wasn’t ready for the killing of Claire, he had shot his wad too early. But he could forgive himself for that, he was new at this murder game, but he was learning the rules.

He was golden, after all, he watched those forensic shows on television all the time.
Not a single person missed Claire the next day, or the day after. Everyone just thought that she had grown bored of the town and had moved back to whatever country she had come from, to introduce new STDs there. Months later her parents sat by the phone waiting for the ransom call that would never come. Her body was never found. The body of a busty waitress was found a few weeks later however.

No one connected the two disappearances together, or the apparent brutal murder suicide of Timothy Winston Sr. and his gold digging wife Martha. Winston Jr.’s body count slowly rose in secret, as did the voices and laughter in his head.

Blaspheme or die trying

Go to church of the Lego Devil will claim your soul.

I’m thinking about posting a snippet of a short story on here, but they’re all on a computer that’s not hooked up to the internet and the computer that is hooked up doesn’t have a floppy drive which is super dumb. So to post a snippet I have to re-type it onto this computer and that seems like such a bloody hassle that it makes me just want to not do it. Though, by that time this post is finished publishing, I’ll probably have my ass stuck up in the air with my head under my desk unplugging my computer so I can lug it into this room and set it up in here. Which I’ve done before, but seriously, such a fucking hassle.

the tanks at tiananmen come searching to feed their hunger on the ranks of the children who just want to play in the rain skipping on the beat of the drums that fuel the tanks that march single file down the road to the house at the end and you know its a bad idea to stand up but you can’t stop what you’ve already started in this world of love and hate theres nothing to lose if there’s nothing left to win at the end of the road you have to run or stay run and you die stay and you die its a lose/lose situation.

or is it a win/win situation?

Emo!

James, the nicest jerk ever [pictured right], pointed out that I made an “Emo” post a few posts back and I thought ‘well shit, he’s right.’

I did it for a reason though.

I figured that I haven’t really bitched about anything much lately, as used to my fashion, lately it’s been ‘blah-blah-book’ or ‘blah-blah-I-like-music’ so in my mind I did the math and I was shocked to find that I wasn’t feeling bad about anything lately, that I haven’t been feeling anything lately. Thus the “I’m-so-emotionally-void-that-it-fills-me-with-emotion” post. Those kinds of posts are always the easiest to write, because all you have to express is the surface thoughts.

It doesn’t take a genius to bitch about girlfriends, ex-girlfriends or the pretty girl down the block that is totally in love with the me, but doesn’t see it ‘cos she’s with the jock-guy. Ugh. She’s totally blind, omg.

Actually, I don’t even think there’s a pretty girl down the block, so don’t think I’m a creepy stalker. ‘Cos I’m not. I’m a creepy loner damnit, there’s a difference. Besides, I haven’t been outside enough to meet any pretty girls.

Life’s pretty sweet sometimes.

Anyways.

You may/may not have noticed that my weekend-only updates have been lacking of a] pizzaz, b] quality and c] quantity, but that’s because I’ve been writing like a mother for Shoddy Penmanship and haven’t had anything left for the blog.

Pizza Pockets are delicious

Christy called out of the blue today, that was fun. I made fun of the way she pronounces her double vowels with a drawl and we talked about the end of the world and how only 50 people would be left and that James would be the token Christian and we would end up crucifying him because he was trying to convert us and how there would be a new religion based around him and that his ghost would try to hunt me down. We also discussed blogging and how certain individuals give blogging a bad name with their idiotic content.

Later, she sent me a bootleg Matt Good show from last year at the Kool Haus and it’s fantastic. I still can’t believe I’ve yet to see him live.

Goddamnit.

This is only funny if you know who Kevin "Not the Actor" Dillon is

When God gives you AIDS make lemonaids says:
duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude!!

Dan says:
what?

When God gives you AIDS make lemonaids says:
i forgot to tell you!

When God gives you AIDS make lemonaids says:
guess where kevin dillion is and what hes doing??

Dan says:
i dunno

When God gives you AIDS make lemonaids says:
he is in the phillipins…looking for a wife! hahahaahahahaah

Dan says:
hahahahahahahaha

Dan says:
that’s too fucking funny

Bored on life

I’ve been so bland-minded lately. Nothing strikes my interest magnificently anymore. Every detail is a bore. I wake up everyday with the only purpose of watching some programs on television that I have no interest for anymore. But the moment I set foot outside I feel the world grab my chest and squeeze hard, refusing to allow me to breathe, to function. I have no use of my tongue when I go out, I can’t speak to people properly, my words a mass of jumbled “blahs” and “ughs.”

It’s fucking annoying not being able to live like a human being does.

It’s fucking annoying that you’ve ended up being exactly what you’ve been afraid of becoming.

It’s fucking annoying knowing that it doesn’t get any better after this.

It’s fucking annoying knowing that everything that happens from now on will be a disappointment like every disappointment passed.

I’m single, which, you know, is fine by me. Every relationship I’ve had has ended badly. Every relationship I’ve had I’ve grown emotionally distant, and become emotionally unavailable. I can’t commit to the idea of saying “I’ll be there for you” and I can’t comprehend or accept it when someone says the same to me. I can’t trust and I can’t breathe and I can’t think I’ll ever see a day when I do.

It’s not that I’m emotionally dead, it’s that I’m emotionally immature.

Anyways.

Music makes the bourgeoisie

Two music related topics today.

1. Hypnotize, the new [what I assume is a] single by System of a Down is fantastic. I hold true to my argument about their last album Mezmerize that there needs to be less Daron and more Serj vocals. Daron sounds like a cat getting spayed with a cheese grater.

2. I have a tremendous amount of jealousy aimed in the direction of Christy because she went and saw Queens of the Stone Age on Monday.

[/envy]