Writer's Block

I know I broke it off, but...

Ok google ads, yes I did say we were over and that I was going to ignore you, but I just can't help it. I'm too curious. What have I written that has anything to do with scanners from Fujitsu? Although I am a bit curious as to why Fujitsu is leading the paper reduction revolution, it really has nothing to do with anything I've been writing. Or maybe you're advertising directly to me. How did you know that I write a lot of this shit on paper first? I mean I guess I should thank you for caring so much about me. It can get pretty tedious transcribing my chicken-scratch. But seriously stop stalking me. It's over. If I catch you spying on me writing anymore I'm going to fucking flip. You're supposed to have ads that relate to the subject matter of my writing, not to the manner in which I wrote it. If you can't keep your fucking distance I'm gonna put a stop to it. You hear me? This crap better fucking end before I lose my self control. I know you can make me money, but I can do without that if I have to. Just remember: three strikes and your dead.

Beerdo

Jim part 1

Benjamin Dover had never liked his name. His parents had thought it would be funny to name their son Ben Dover. That's why he had it changed on his 18th birthday. He'd always thought he was more of a Jim anyway. He gave a lot of thought to what he wanted to be named. 'Jim what?' the lady said irritably when he turned in the paperwork with a big fat blank space on the line after surname.
'Just Jim,' he said.
From then on his name got him quite a bit of attention. But his answer was always the same. 'Just Jim,' he would say when people asked him what his last name was.

This whole issue of his name had caused him to deeply hate his parents. It was a horrible and lingering hate that he hid almost completely because other than the unfortunate naming his parents had really been incredibly good and kind to him. They even always went to his PTA meetings, when he was in elementary school. They always went to his little league games. They were in general caring and loving parents.

At the age of nine Ben discovered huffing glue. He was very excited. It changed his life completely. Instead of playing with friends out and about, he spent his free time locked in his room getting high. His skin turned pale from spending so much time inside. his face took on a certain gaunt, exhausted look that is entirely unexpected in a 10 year old.

Without knowing it Jim developed a serious relationship at the age of 22. Because of his heavy use on marijuana to self medicate for his back injury, he never thought about it as a relationship. His sense of how long it had been going on was also seriously flawed. When he reduced the amount he smoked after his back healed, he finally began to realize just how involved he was.

Jim hated doctors. When he was 20 he hit his head and was knocked out. He was taken to the hospital while unconscious and when he awoke he freaked out. The bright glare of the florescent hospital lights and the stark nature of his hospital room terrified and confused him. He did not recognize his surroundings and immediately paranoia set in. He lept from his bed straight into an expert crouch and darted out into the hall. He snuck from doorway to doorway carefully avoiding anyones notice. Eventually he found an elevator and called it. Luckily he heard the man's voice before the doors opened and was able to to get around the corner before he was seen. In his dash to dash around the corner he found the stairs and was able to get down to the ground floor. From there it was only a matter of finding an exit, which was very well advertised and therefore quite easy to find. Out the door on the run he ran directly into the road only to be cut down by an oncoming car. This put him right back in the hospital for with some very severe injuries. It took a long time for all of the pain to go away, especially in his back.

chairs

Chair. That's a noun. But is it only a noun? I think most nouns can also be things other than nouns if used correctly. Anything can be anything if used incorrectly or correctly with no regard for the consequences. World War I German helmets can be chairs too, if you don't mind giant spikes up your ass. Chairs make good firewood. But be careful not to chop them up with axes in public. The authorities don't like that. They usually take the ax away, at least in my experience. They say it's too dangerous. Well I'll tell you what's really dangerous is trying to burn a chair that's about a three foot cube without cutting it up first. I bet there would have been a lot more trouble if that chair had been set on fire without first being chopped up. I think what attracted the attention of the authorities was the sparks being thrown up as the ax hit the concrete because I'm really bad at hitting things with an ax while my eyes are closed. Or it could have been the ear splitting racket caused by the very same ax on concrete contact. I guess I shouldn't have been wildly flailing an ax around in a crowd with the police right across the street, but no one else seemed to mind. I mean yeah I wasn't really paying any attention to the safety of the people around me, but I'm sure they were, so what's the big deal. It didn't help either that I had had a different ax taken away under similar circumstances just one week previously. But in my defense it was my chair. I think I should have a right to destroy my own property, even if it was a gift. Apparently our wonderful civilization has evolved beyond the need to chop fire wood.

consequences of sleep deprivation

The consequences of sleep deprivation are unknown to the sleep deprived. Unknown may be the wrong word. That's a consequence. They are only known when they happen, because memory is one of them. Eyes are one of them too. Closing that is. Talking is another or typing. It all seems to fall apart at the first sign of trouble. It comes and goes you know. But always present. The mind may stop for a quick break but it is back in no time. At least it seems that way. There is no telling when it will hit. Actually that is not true. It comes when there has not been sleep. Slowing. Lots of blinks come and go. Things don't seem what they should be, if they should be. Words are always wrong in this situation. They work as a stopgap so that the mind can catch up, because it has slowed or stopped. It never really does. That's why the words are so important. If they keep coming out it does not always mean the mind is engaged. The key sign is the blurriness, and the loss of focus. And the green on this leaf is important too. Unknown is the why, but it just seems that way. The walls seem to close and open, or maybe that's just the door. The sounds have started, but they are there. I'm sure. It's someone out there moving around. Someone is always there. They love to make the mind wonder. The truth is not always real. Or maybe it is. No one really has any answers to the important questions. The ones that are unanswerable. Those are the ones that make you think, even when the mind is tired and wants to rest.

In By Accident

I was on a boat once,
And I fell in the water.
They threw a life ring to me,
And hauled me back aboard.
They said 'You gave us quite a scare,'
And I replied 'I am sorry.'
When they were not watching I jumped in again,
And this time I took the life preserver with me,
Because I had not fallen in by accident.

how i do things

I don't really know how to do this. That's my real problem. I never really know how to do anything. I doubt anybody else really does either. This comes to mind because everything always seems to work out for me even though I have no idea what's going on. Enter my conclusion that no one has any idea what's going on. If I can make things work, it makes me very cynical about other people. Based on personal experience I bet they don't have any idea either. You really just have to act like you know what's going on. Then people think you know what's going on. Then you tell them what's going on and they believe you and it becomes what's going on. The real key is to not care what's going on. My philosophy relies on a lot of fate. I don't actually believe in fate. I just believe in random chance. And acceptance. One example is traveling. I claim to never be lost. I always know where I'm going. And I always know where I am (I'm here). I always know that I will get where I'm going eventually. Sometimes I just take the circuitous route. You just have to have patience. Recently I was visiting a small college town in Pennsylvania. The girl I was visiting had a study group during the day so I decided to go for a walk. About two hours later she called me on the texty thing to tell me that the study group was over and to ask where I was. My reply: 'Well i think im headed back.' By this time I had absolutely no idea where I was in relation to the college. The key to never being lost is never losing your cool. I just started walking the direction I thought it was and in a half hour I was back on campus. When I first started driving I never knew how to get anywhere, so I would just go by instinct. Whenever I got to an intersection I would pick left, right or straight based on gut feeling. I always got where I was headed, and usually not to late. That's how I write as well, if you hadn't already noticed. I just start my mind going and see where it goes. I've always found it to be an interesting experience.

Is anybody out there?

Is anybody out there? Not out there out there, my question was more along the lines of an inquiry. I was just wondering you know. About you. I keep talking to this 'you,' but I don't actually know that anyone reads this. So what I'm trying to say is should I start addressing my posts to me. That way I wouldn't have any delusions about it. I've always treated it like I was talking to myself. I just referred to myself as you. So I'm trying to figure out if there really is a you. Are you there? Am I actually writing this blog? Are you actually reading it? If you even exist. I guess it would be pretty hard to read this if you didn't exist. Although I'm pretty sure I exist so I shouldn't really be making judgments about what people who don't exist can and cannot do. I've never been in that position before. Well I guess I was before I started existing, but I can't remember that far back: I didn't exist. I guess that lets me say I have a hunch that people who don't exist also can't remember. I'll have to wait to make judgment on the whole reading while nonexistent issue, seeing as I can't remember nonexistence, so I wouldn't know if I could read or not. Anyway I think the reason I started writing was to see if anybody read this. So I guess if you read this maybe could you leave a comment. An empty one will do. I just want some reassurance that my suspicions that someone is eavesdropping on my public conversation with myself are true.