Slowly, as I peeled last nights memories off my mind like old skin, I recalled, painfully like shedding a fresh scab, why it is I don't divulge the information of my life to strangers any more. With their constant presence, I immerse myself in art of all kinds, hoping to hide within the canvas walls, the misery I've come to call a psyche. My professors would be proud, I suppose, of this fail-proof design of, 'never-strive, never-be,'attitude that I developed late in my infancy to better manage the adult life I am sure as day and night are different, I shall one day, against every ounce of my will power, inherit.

this pinching in my nerves has once again, without waste, escalated into nothing more than a full force mockery of a see-saw, who-done-it-, she-did, ordeal of truancy for my ever sliding & forever piling up pretexts for my ever increasing claim to insanity.

Chapter Seven rewrite complete. Three hours of reading and adding and deleting and visiting old memories of my marriage and adding emotion and more detail and reliving the divorce and the cheating and the drinking and the shitting and the puking... good times

It's that old familiar smell
Mildew and candy corn
In a twisted mix of cobras and latex
Haunted with just a hint of saltwater and blood

I close my eyes and see that girl

My knee won't stop jerking
Nor will my hand when it comes to my dick
It passifies me and brings me back down
Keeping all that I am in check, balancing my ego and my self-loathing

I wince every time I hear your name

You smile at me as I stroke your hair
I cringe each time the phone rings
I know you are on the other end, waiting
Stalking me like the victim of a cannibal,
Eating your way through my heart and my mind, defecating my sanity, destroying my logic and hope.

The eastbound 91 freeway is full of metal and frustration
Yet our house is full of shit
If I could sit in the carpool lane all the way to freedom, I would spend an eternity alone in the driver's seat

The sun is warm but not quite uncomfortable yet like a woman you live with

kickfucking: the art of strapping a dildo on your shoe and sexually penetrating someone

the great new idea i came up with at work.

used it in a sentence? sure, no problem.

"hey, if you don't do what i told you to do, i'm going to come over there and kickfuck the shit out of you!"

end random transmission

So I opened up another blog on a different site for longer posts. These aren't anything fancy or hopes of me getting published, just me messing around with 'styles.' I plan on doing a lot not just a driven goal on writing. I understand people dedicate their lives to it (rather knowing it or not) like Orwell, J.D Salinger, Huxley, Hemmingway...

When I start to put things I want for publication of some sorts, those vignettes, short stories, and blurbs from novels I've written, those will be posted in the privacy of the Members Section of this Forum.

Here is a snippet from what I wrote today, if interested follow link for more reading! So as I not to pollute the blog community on here... This will be my longest blurb explaining my method.

'The suns emerging dawn
adds such a magnificent aura
to today's already misplaced atmosphere.

I suppose the suns intense glare
just highlights the burn I feel inside
as I recall her waving good-bye for good this time.'

...

fuck you, there is no difference.

as a first time subscriber, i have gotten forty bucks worth of this website in the form of chuck's essays. they are, without doubt, the best education to writing one has ever "instructed" me. the truest education, i have found, is life and pain and misery and booze and pills. the forced excess of time given to one's self, and the destructive habits that go along with it. combined, they are creative and forceful and beautiful.

either way, this buzz i have before work will soon wear off and life will come back and i will be out the door. but, for this moment, i type this pathetic little blog that one or two people may skim through before realizing it's not something they WANT to read. either way, this website, the so-called workshop, is a bit under par. not the layout, not the design, not the fucking ads. simply, the response. i sit around, pissed off when i randomly check in to see if i have any reviews, wondering, "what the fuck?"