Tell me to stay

I always do what I’m told. I’m what they call a “conformist.” I make it my goal to make sure that I don’t have anything resembling will.

Okay. That’s a lie. I don’t do what I’m told. I’m what they call an “un-conformist.” I make it my goal to never refer to myself as an anarchist, ‘cos frankly, I’m not eighteen anymore. But that’s only because I’ve been alive for twenty-two years. Yes, it’s a technicality, but I think I can get away with it.

See, I’m kinda emotionally hedonistic. Whatever feels right for the moment to say or do, I blurt it. Then I’m stuck with the consequences of my words and/or actions, doomed to sit on the sidelines and smoke, nursing my wounded… whatever that thing is that holds host to those things called “feelings.” If it’s still under warranty. Though, come to think of it I think I nulled that.

‘Cos if there’s anything I do, it’s stick to my guns. I’m a very black and white kinda guy. Not, you know, physically, ‘cos in that regard I’m so white and not “street” that my skin is almost luminous. Could be the whole “being a vampire thing,” but whatever. Anyways, black and white kinda guy. Okay, that’s another lie. But the sticking to my guns thing, not.

Maybe it’s ‘cos I find a gun that I really like and damn, the trigger is so smooth, the barrel so clean that the metal flies so straight and true that I always know that I’m gonna hit my mark. I keep the gun so clean that if a grain of sand dares to try to sully it, the grain evaporates. Or rolls off, whichever works.

And these metal bits that fly, goddamn they are hard to swallow, hard to keep track of, they move so fast they fly into the target before I even have time to blink. And it leaves me with a torn and blood stained jacket.

Disposable

Last week I killed a man. My first thought was about how I was going to get the blood off of my jacket. It’s a nice jacket, all army and green, now it’s all army and green with red on the sleeves and a rip on the arm. I think I’m going to cut the sleeves and turn it into more appropriate summer wear.

I got myself a nice replacement today. Bought a jacket at Sears. It was thirty percent off. I’m always a sucker for a good bargain. The lady at the cash was friendly but she had a fake English accent. Either that or she’d had a stroke.

But damn, this jacket, it’s got like a dozen pockets. I can now carry a bunch of shit with me that I won’t ever have a need for. Things like a charming personality and ruggedly handsome good looks. My new jacket, it’s brown and it’s warm but it breathes so I don’t have to worry about overheating, ‘cos that leads to sweating and that leads to smelling and that leads to no fun at all.

This jacket, it’s one hundred percent polyester and yet it looks like leather. Now I’m not one of those people that’s all anti-fur or anti-leather or anti-meat – ‘cos those people are retards – but I don’t see leather as practical. I mean, it swells and it cracks and it looks like shit if you step out in the rain for too long. And I love me the rain; it’s all cleanse-y and rinse-y. Very handy for getting the blood off of your hands without having to worry about touching something and leave behind some sort of forensic evidence.

Wait a sec. Did I just confess to murder? Ah well, at least I look snazzy in my new jacket.

Forgettable

Every time I log in to Blogger it tries to make me switch to the “New Blogger.” The way I freaked out when Dr Pepper did something as insignificant as changing their packaging means that the chances of my willingly changing to “New Blogger” are slim to none.

Sitting on the desk in the dim light tossed off by the monitor is a pen. Just thought I’d share. It kinda makes me want to go for a cigarette.

Smoking over the last few days hasn’t been all that enjoyable for the last week or so. Now, I’m by no means going to quit, I’ve just been congested. Phlegm has literally been falling out of my nose in liquid form. Smokes just taste off when I’m sick. Besides, it’s not all that fun to be on break and have to smoke in a smoking section that’s been covered with a shit pile of snow.

I’m [not technically] up for a “promotion” at work, which isn’t as much a promotion as it is a substantial increase in responsibility and a non-existent increase in wage. Hence the quotes. Chances are I did the air quote thing before I typed the word, ‘cos I’m, you know, retarded.

This is what happens every Christmas

At some point I start to nod off from the consumption of turkey and booze and shortly after I wake up and tell people off for no good goddamn reason.

Ah, traditions.

You can almost see my jowls, but they seem to be mostly hidden by my tie and shirt. My hair is much longer now, but it’s not Sampson long, more like Sam from Supernatural long. I can poke myself in the cornea with strands of hair if I wanted to. Which oddly enough, that actually seems to come up more than one would think.

P.S. Hi Amber.

That sick taste in my mouth

I’ve started working on this again. Even though it’s been a year since I did, I still remember where I was going with it, though I’ve pretty much completely revamped the storyline and some of the characters. I have kept the concept intact however. The entire universe is now structured, rather than me just running with a bizarre concept.

The villian is also solidified and who/what the villian is really makes me laugh.

I’m starting to look for my own place to live, because I really can’t stand living under my mother’s roof. It’s not as if I dislike her, it’s quite the opposite. It has a lot more to do with the fact that I’m 21 and I don’t want to live with my mother anymore. With I think is completely understandable.

I have magazines and everything, full of various houses/condos/apartments for rent. Most of them are in the Hamilton neck of the woods, which I really don’t get, considering the magazines are for the Niagara area. I’m also not ruling out moving to either Toronto or Vancouver in a year or so. What the future holds, I do not know and I really do not care. Whatever will be, will be. The only thing that I do know for certain right now is that I’m in love.

In love with Vodka.