Wednesday, August 31, 2005

As I was doing my Interview I was reflecting about some things that have always been true of me. If you read me regularly at all you know I tend not to talk a lot about current events. I don't participate in political discussions or the like.

I thought about it and realized that as I've gotten older I just don't have the stomach for it. I've been accused of being out of touch and to an extent I am by choice. I already know just how fucked up the world can be. I already am well aware of what tragedy is from the inside out. I don't need to be reminded by forty news sources. Nor do I care to have my days inundated with the horrors that make up life today.

I have known enough of them in my own life to not want to immerse myself in the rest. That doesn't mean that I don't care or that I'm unaware. I just protect myself from myself.

Moving on.

I read this blog called Storyteller's Unplugged that has various horror,SF, and fantasy writers who write various things about writing etc and the post for today had a quote that really struck me.

"Creativity is never stagnant. Complacency is the great killer of brilliance." David Niall Wilsom


I've said things to that effect for my whole life. I love that attitude. Stagnancy equals death.

In writing news I'm working myself up to Nanowrimo I think. Getting myself back into the rhythm of making sure I write something daily whether it's my crap ass poetry or something else. Today I'm not sure what it'll be. Maybe a little porny short short.

Could be rabbit.

I think that's about it for right now I have tea to drink and Bookslut to read.

Goodnight Sally.
PS...Foot hurts send candy.
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Tuesday, August 30, 2005

I just finished a short-short story. Here's a taste.

You’d thought about heaven and hell on occasion. You though that if there were in fact an afterlife you’d spend eternity getting butt fucked by Hitler while having to recite nursery rhymes in German or some shit. But this, this is what you think would happen after fifteen too many hits of acid and a little too much 700 Club.


That's it.
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Monday, August 29, 2005

Nudiemuserific.

That's apt enough I suppose.

So yeah. Writing right-o.

I've been writing more poetry. And keeping half an eye (because my ego demands it of course) on the poetry I've had languishing at Understatement. It continues to be read. I'm partly excited (ego gets a hard on) and partly mystefied.

As far as poetry goes I'm an absolute naif. I like to read poetry. I love to read it actually. But as far as the ins and outs of it I'm clueless. I know form and structure on an elementary basis. But, when it comes to the nitty gritty of it I get lost.

I've tried reading more about the technicalities of poetry but I always seem to find myself getting cross eyed and then just not wanting to write poetry.

The part of me that is studious disapproves in extremis. I don't like being willfully ignorant of anything.

If I'm going to be honest I think my resistance to learning how poetry really works is that I just don't think mine is very good. And in some way in my mind learning how poetry works equals realizing just how shitty mine is.

In other news I'm considering doing Nanowrimo again this year. Maybe try my hand at some fantasy. Who knows. Last year I wrote horror. A vampire/sorcery/mythology/thing that was decent. I just barely managed the 50k in words though. Got there through cheating. A long forward and an afterword.

I've been thinking a lot (as usual) about the reality of my writing and the place it has in my life. This past year has been less than creativity friendly. I've made list after list of reasons I've not been doing well. Reasons I should be doing better. I've berated myself about the time I've spent and time I've not spent writing.

I realized the other day while I was scribbling in one of my notebooks that one of the huge reasons my output has been so phenomenally low is that I'm not giving myself a chance to just do my thing. There's been so much craziness and fear in other areas of my life that, being creative has felt like an unearned luxury.

At times when I've sat down with my set aside time to write it's felt like I should be doing other things. Making sure the budget is air tight, checking for places to live, making sure I have a plan. This past year I've learned once again just how fucked life can get when you're trying to hold it down.

I don't know just what my point is here. Other than to get this out and down so I can look at it later.

Most of the time I can see right there in front of my nose where I want to go with my writing. Other times it's so far away and so ugly I can't really set foot on the path.

I don't write because it's just what I want to do. It's not a hobby. It's in my heart and like I've been trying to tell myself for years, there's just no excising it. Ever.
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I finished reading The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. I liked it a lot more than I thought I would. For some reason I resisted reading it for years. I'm not entirely sure why. There was always this vague sort of, meh feeling about it. Then I saw a copy at Twice Sold Tales and figured three dollars wasn't too bad.

I enjoyed it quite a bit. In the forward (I'm not sure which imprint I got) I read just how difficult it was for her to get that book published in the states. Had she not committed suicide most likely that book wouldn't have made it to the I think it's something like three million copies sold to date or some such. It's a sad thing.

What I mainly enjoyed about the book was some of the descriptions of the main characters path to insanity and shock therapy. The ending wasn't quite to my taste. I've never been a fan of the mostly happy ending for some reason.

Next I'm not sure what I want to read. I browsed Twice Sold Tales today and Arundel Books and didn't really find anything that caught my eye in particular. I'm not generally one to read brand new books and really I couldn't find anything that tugged at me to read.

So in the meantime I'm rereading Silk by Caitlin R. Kiernan.

I'm tempted by Speak, Memory: An Autobiography Revisited. That's about Vladmir Nabokov. I think I'm leaning towards biography. I really want something meaty that I can dig into. As much as I enjoyed The Bell Jar, it was far too quick a read.

I read like a crackhead smokes rock.

I've been cruising Half.com and Amazon looking for deals. I love used books. I'm probably going to have a go at Powell's too.

In other news I've been scribbling this heaven/hell thing I've been working on. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet. I'm writing it a little inside out mostly because I don't know how I want it structured just yet. Who knows.

I should probably send this before I forget. So yeah.

Boobs hurt send Midol.
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Friday, August 26, 2005

Ok yeah what the fuck is going on here? I was bleeding at the start of the month and I'm bleeding again. That is just not fucking fair. Not fair at all. I thought I've felt a=20 little weird but goddamn it. That means an extra trip to the gyno because yet again my fucking body has decided to play games with me. Good thing I didn't take my stupid Dittie tampons home. Fucksake. Anyway it's my honey's birfday and I've been busy planning surprises. Firstone should be on the way just now. YAY!

Fucking lost my train of thought. T his whole spontaneous change of my menstrual cycle bothers me. Ever just want to plug an orifice with a cork so you don't have to deal with it? Yeah well that's how I'm feeling about it now. Stupid girl parts.

Jesus TapDancing Christ I'm going to stab something in the eye. With my pen.

I'm serious.

And before I forget my new Interview is up. I'll find my old one and link it too. Go..compare and contrast the Nudiemuse of today versus the Nudiemuse of yesteryear.

Yes I still say pussy and fuck way too often.
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Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Actually not more important stuff. I thought about it and realized I didn't feel like going on at length (again) about the sad state of my writing and whatnot. I'm just really not in the mood. To cap off my anti-fab Monday yesterday I spilled tea inside my pocket.

Yes you read that right.

Spilled...tea...inside...my...pocket.

So I went home with a damp hoody pocket and a big annoyance.

As I was on my way to work on the bus today I saw something really amusing. This woman got on the bus one of those purse clutching, almost disgusted looking type of women who don't ride the bus often with us lesser beings. What amused me was watching her ride.

She first sat at the extreme outside of her double seat to prevent anyone from sitting next to her and maybe contaminating her with their bus rider cooties. Then the bus got crowded and I'm sure she noticed people giving her dirty looks when she very nearly didn't let an elderly man sit next to her.

You have to picture this woman. Big designer bag, shopping bags from Macy's, very carefully made up and coiffed. At first glance very upper class lovely lady with a very nasty attitude.

I watched her almost choking her cute designer bag when dundundaaa two very scary looking teenaged boys got on the bus and sat in the row of seats opposite. I watched her get that 'ew OMFG what a disgusting human' look when the old man sat down. Then as she leaned away and back from the old man I saw something that made it all very funny.

She had about the worst case of dandruff I've ever seen.

Caught up in the sprayed pomp of her hair was a good half pound of flaking scalp.

I've had dandruff. I've had very bad dandruff before and usually I knew to check these things before going out. Brush off the shoulders, flick away the more obvious bits. You know take care to check for strays.

Now most people still mistake dandruff for filthy hair. It's actually a skin condition as far as I know. But I have to admit a small amount of glee considering that people were probably looking at her head the same way she was looking at everyone on the bus.

Just another instance of- 'Check yo-self before you riggety wreck yo-self.'

That reminds me I should watch the movie Orgazmo again sometime soon.

I fucking forgot to restock my work tea supply again. I have none and I'm freezing. I am growing to really hate air conditioning in an evil 'I will pee in it and break it' kind of way.

I was going to rant until K.D Lang just came on the streaming radio station I listen to. I can't be angry listening to her sing. It's just impossible. I love her voice.

Fuck I forgot about this. So yeah that's it for today I guess. My other point was lost. I'm going to go home in a few minutes and hopefully get fed and pass the fuck out because I'm tired.

Goodnight Sally.

PS.. Send snacks I want pie.

PPS...I forgot to post this yesterday so I'm predating it. Something more current today.
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Monday, August 22, 2005

In case I haven't mentioned it lately I hate Mondays. Thus far today (approximately 1.5 hours into my shift) I've forgotten to refill my tea supply so I have 2 bags of tea, I forgot my debit card at home so I will have no other tea or coffee or whatever, my sunglasses have been here all weekend so I had to deal with sun glare and now my head hurts, I almost tripped and fell coming off of the ferry, I lost my carmex again. Now for the calamaties awaiting me at work.

Got here read email (not the best way to start off your day), major database goes down, email flies, I get confused but really don't feel like asking, enormous amount of machines go down, services, websites etc, I snagged a nail while testing said broke products websites included, yahoo ate an email I thought I sent Saturday. I have to copy and staple 30 4 page packets because nobody bothered to do it on the weekend. I am not refilling the rest of the clipboards I don't feel like that many papercuts today. I have few cigarettes to last me the rest of the day. I've taken 5 Advils and my headache is only lifted a little bit.

And well..I fucking hate Mondays.

So in non whining angsty news. =20

The day hasn't been all bad. I found a neat punk zine called Pocket Full of Change. If you're into punk music and art it's worth checking out. I also picked up a free Tom Waits postcard that will be living a long life as a bookmark. I love postcards, I've collected them on and off for years.

I love all sorts of postcards. Although getting them is by far the best thing ever. I have some from a few different countries. Most of my collection has gone by the wayside in my many moves and the occasional, "Why am I such a fucking packrat" purgings that I've done of my belongings.

I actually have something really important to me to talk about but I don't want it intermingled with my bitching.

Tally ho.

I've edited this entry three times because I can't make a fucking link. What the fuck?
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Thursday, August 18, 2005

Wait in the fire.

I'm listening to Jeff Buckley again. The title is a line from the song Grace. I'm also singing along because I don't feel like letting this place get to me today.

In other news I finally made some progress on the heaven/hell/Jesus is a freaking hippy story. Thank you Mei you said something (don't ask me what exactly) that jarred something loose.

My 'outline' is actually a pretty amusing thing at this point. At home for writing generally I use Roughdraft and it has a utility that's like a little notepad to go along with whatever you're writing. I've been putting snippets of things in it. Last night some character notes, tonight probably.

In other news my new boots arrived last night (what a fuckaround that shipping is 3 day my ASS). They are absolutly fabulous. I have a feeling I'm going to be a devout Demonia customer for awhile now.


Those are my boots. They are a tad too big and I'll have to wear two pairs of socks. But very worth 40 bucks. If my feet weren't so damn small I wouldn't have such a problem finding boots I love but yeah. Meh.

I think that's about it for now. I've been pecking away at this for a couple of hours and I'm annoyed with other things and don't feel like talking about it.

Goodnight Sally
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Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Uh..no Holden McNeil.

Actually it's Gabriel with the thing for suits, Michael likes dogs and bird watching, Jesus is still a giggly hippy, God and the Devil don whatever kind of flesh bags they want to go play golf and occasionally hit a strip club.

Hell is actually run out of sub basements for the comfort of that division, heaven runs on high from the 27th floor on up.

Mary thinks Jesus needs a date and to stop wearing Birkenstocks.

The martyr in question is actually not a martyr strictly speaking but, the uproar is more over what division gets to have her post death.

And what to do with her murderer.

St. Peter dresses like Johnny Cash and is violently allergic to peanuts.

Ok yeah.

So I think maybe for the first time in I don't know how long I'm actually going to outline this out. There's too many elements fighting for who gets written down first for me to just let it out.

Yay for something new.

And fucksake if I don't get this done I'm going to have a disco-freakout.
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Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Fuck off and die.

No seriously.

Why is it a good number of my favorite online places have been plagued by fucking trolls?

How fucking bored do you have to be to sit and bitch and piss and moan and be a dick somewhere that you don't like, and have no interest in?

Is it SO fucking hard to think that yes there are other people out there with different tastes than you have and they might enjoy it?

Stop pissing in my fucking sandbox.

What me cranky?

Yes just a little.

Anyhow since I got that out.

I've been doing quite a few little micro fiction type freewrites. The lack of laptop has lately been making itself overly known. Ireally either need to buy one or learn to handwrite better.

The latter is far easier than it sounds, handwriting has never been a strong suit for me. I've been reading like mad. Just lately a collection of screenplays. I've never actually read one before so it's been an experience. I find the structure interesting. Something I might enjoy playing with at some point.

Also, I have this problem story absolutely boiling in my head for at least a couple of months now.
All I can suss out when I try to sit down and write it is the following: Heaven-

Michael the Archangel has a thing for good suits.

Jesus is a hippy. God is out playing golf.

Hell- The Devil is out playing golf with god.

Abaddon is having computer problems.


And everyone is all up in arms about a potential martyr. There's questions about the martyr's parentage and actual history.

And uh...a grisly murder. Well four of them actually. And music. It's all swirling around in my head and I just can't grab ahold of it and it's driving me effectively batshit. So yeah..I'm not in a perky mood.

The formatting was ugly I had to fix it.
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Monday, August 08, 2005

I've been forgetting to cross post from my other journal here.

Not a whole lot going on. Aside from a rant about tampons and some snatches (pun intended) of poetry and a story that's been flittering around my head I've been laying low.

I'm still toying with the idea of doing a poetry chapbook. Despite my own distaste for my poetry it still gets read. I've been working on some more. The best part about the poetry is really just the emptying out of my skull. And the idea of doing some spoken word of some sort.

If I had a mic I'd do some and maybe mix it, put it to a little music. That's something to keep in mind I suppose.

I need to fix this line-

"His come spurts at the same instant does his viscera."

Should it be- his viscera does? Or should I leave it alone.

Gods I'm a bad editor.

Probably why I rarely get my submissions (the few I've been making lately) out in any orderly fashion. I'm done. I want tea.
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