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I'm convinced that the nightmares of children ride in from the same place where bad odors, math homework and steaming turnip greens come from. I'm about to regale my keyboard and anyone reading with the dread hoofmarks and after-dark whinnying of one of my bad dreams from when I was a wee shaver.
Forgive me for doing so. Reading about other people's dreams can be a bit boring. I don't say that to be mean. Unless I'm starring in the dream being recounted, I lose interest in hearing about it and my eyes glaze over. I'd almost rather hear about Tracy Chapman's sex life, sorry. ( If you'd like to, you can click here to read more )
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My black pen ran out of ink today.
I've had to use a pen with blue ink since.
I don't like it.
I prefer black ink.
My brother will be receiving a text message
about this development tomorrow while he's at the office
where the pens are plentiful,
bet your sweet ass.
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Say,
"Ka-boom,"
like Garth
from Wayne's World.
(Photo
taken by
my brother.)
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In the romantic short story
I wrote called,
"As Sweet By Any Other Name"
there's a treehouse...
...where two men
meet while working
on the treehouse
as a community project.
Is it heady stuff?
I use convoluted
in relation to a body feature,
if that's any indicator.
I wanted to use
doughty elsewhere
but my editor's
red pen said,
"Aw, hayull naw,"
and I still haven't
quite gotten over it.
[sniff]
There was a treehouse in my childhood, too. A treehouse; a farm for a couple of years complete with private lake and rushing creek; puppy after puppy; a bike... you know, a childhood with such ingredients should have produced the local pipe-smoking font of knowledge/mayor/sherriff/doctor shucking peanuts at the general store. Instead you got me. Feeling cheated, yet?
We built the treehouse. My mother drove me and my brother and sister to an abandoned house nearby, both for lumber and because it was 1975 and dumpster-diving had yet to become a fad and we had to do something for crying out loud.
The abandoned house looked a bit like the one featured in that R.E.M. video, or the finale of that movie that scared me.
I sometimes think nothing is creepier than an abandoned house.
Then I get a good look at John Davidson.
Anyway, it was while building our treehouse that I fell out of it and landed flat on my stomach on a floor of orange hard packed clay and tree roots. I'm lucky I didn't bite my tongue off. The air in my lungs expelled involuntarily in one large- or medium-size rush. Who else has had the air knocked out of him or her? show of hands? isn't it weird?
I might have featured a treehouse in my short story in order to exorcize some of the unpleasant, for me, psychological associations... because treehouses are neat-o and everyone likes them and I ought to be allowed to like them, too, all nice and unhindered and such.
But I'm no shrink, in addition to being
no font of knowledge/mayor/sherriff/doctor.
"As Sweet By Any Other Name"
(by me!)
can be found in
Best Gay Romance 2009.
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| » Riveting |
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I go to the
doctor's office today.
I'm kept waiting
25 minutes.
I'm so bored I start thinking up
alternative or "rejected" names
for Pizza Hut,
like, "Pizza Cabana,"
or, "Pizza Hovel,"
or, "Pizza Lean-to."
I text message
my brother,
asking him to steal me a
mouse pad
from work,
which he does.
True story, I promise you.
May. 29th, 2009 @ 01:38 am
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| » Long-distance dedication |
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...by request, this one goes out to Marika.
Aww, yeahhh. : )
May. 21st, 2009 @ 12:08 am
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| » The Master of Suspense! |
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Listen, you. Remember this old cameraphone picture I took of a poppy, from the dark ages, or 2007?
Here's 2009's real digital camera version....
( More! )
May. 7th, 2009 @ 12:37 pm
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| » MAYDAY! |
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Incoming cute-attack! Secure your vessel! Set your comments for, "Aww" and batten down the hatches!
( Pow! )
May. 5th, 2009 @ 11:10 am
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markgharris's journal
