Monday, December 22, 2008

who writers are

I think my sister's dog is a writer, it likes when my dad gives it turkey cold cuts even though he has been asked time and time again not to give the dog the cold cuts because it is making her fat but he does it anyway because the dog becomes pleased and shakes for the cold cut, I have seen my father give her several in the span of an hour.

I think my sister's not yet and maybe never to be born child is a writer because it plans to have hands.

My new favorite thing to do is when I make a typo, instead of going back to fix the typo I let my fingers go and hit a bunch extra keys on top of the typo and leave it that way, it feels like I am playing the piano.

I am trying to convince myself to stop talking and doing things around in this internet area but all that is is a tendency in me to want to be contrary no matter what, and really I am too frightened of being awake in the awake clod to not come on the internet, as much as I may try to manifest the idea that I could disappear at will.

I think the guy who I am waiting on to come over and replace a broken window is a writer because he woke up today and ate breakfast and is late and is making me tired even though I just got up and I want it to be warmer in here but paying for heat all the time is expensive and the feeling of being cold will pass.

It's okay to get disgruntled, there was a day within the last six years that I got disgruntled and went and put my hand in the Disposall and had my other hand on the switch that turns on the Disposall and I stood there looking at the fold my arms made and I realize a Disposall's blades are likely not that effective, particularly for flesh and bone.

I think the idiot who manages my homeowner's association is a writer because she makes notes in the margins of my late homeowner's bill that for a while I thought I could have used to sue her but then realized it would not hold up in court. The wall across from me now is light blue framed with a white that lends the blue the context of its blueness.

No, my feet are really, it's so cold like they are hot.

I know there are writers who get kicks about talking about being writers, from now on when people ask me what I do I am going to say I am an eater or I am metabolism.

I am not better than anyone most of the time. Sometimes I am better than a lot of people though just as often likely I am worse. Sometimes I am jumping up and down on a brand of Windex bacon-scented. I can't think any more than I already do.

If some days you want to cut your face off or spend the whole day at Kinko's making copies of nothing to see how high you can run up a bill, look here, this is the story that my grandfather always used to tell me just by looking across the room in that halfroom with the weird yellow light where it seemed like every inch of the walls had stuffed animal heads hanging from them and like the walls were those false folding partition dividers you could fold like an accordion to go on into the next room:

No really I am going to stop soon because there is a slur dam to build.

William Trevor.

The independent publishing circuit is the same as the other one, except there is an illusion of another way, and another goal maybe, though I think the ratio of good people to bad people remains the same, which is probably more good than bad. Probably not the same at all. I am just talking to the computer.

One day I will do a good job on the good team. The metal in this room is very silver. My armpits are stinging. None of these words are words.

I don't care if this post makes you tired of me or makes you hate being involved in the text creation. It can all stop whenever we're both ready.

Please leave me negative comments about my life.


Anonymous said...

You don't really believe this. This is a defense mechanism. You are backed into a corner, the bricks of the alleyway are sweating, peacock tail feathers, eight billion eyes, squirting skunk juice out of your ass.

It's okay to be doing this thing because you want attention, or you want people to like you, or you want to make a connection. Everyone wants that. Some people do it to feel important. Others do it because they want people to fawn over their brains like molasses or cocksucking diamonds.

You try very hard, but at least you have an imagination. It's pointless to be a writer, but it's pointless to do anything. In the grand scheme of things, there is no grand scheme. Nothing will be subverted, no one will hear you.


:belief correction:


Matt DeBenedictis said...

Can't really say anything negative. We are all creators.

sam pink said...

blake i like you ask your mom if you can sleep over tonight i will rent mortal kombat 2 and an super nintende because mine is all broken from dropping a can of pop on it.


i like you too
my mom said no

jereme said...

days of our blakes and butlers

i will breast feed you hate and contempt. i will mold you into something new and different so you can appreciate what you already are.

i will show you alienation and destruction by likening you to me.

go jerk off and be happy.

let your ego go and none of this really matters.

p.s. when you figure out how to completely let your ego go, shoot me an email. i haven't figured it out yet.

we will be ash soon enough. get some smiles while you can.


i want paper mache for christmas

i want to make paper mache

jereme said...

Recipe for Paper-mache
Materials Needed:

* Newspapers,
* Flour,
* Water,
* Mixing bowl,
* Tempera paint,
* Materials for form: such as balloons, grocery bags filled with crumpled papers.


1. Tear long newspaper strips about one to two inches wide.
2. Use your form such as the balloon.
3. Blow up the balloon or put crumbled newspaper in a brown bag and shape the bag.
4. When you choose your shape, remember you will have to remove your form when the project is complete so cover your form with plastic beforehand (a plastic grocery bag). If you are using a balloon, you can just pop the balloon.
5. In a mixing bowl, combine water and flour until you have a paste that's thin enough to coat the paper strips.
Experiment first with some small quantities first. If the mixture is too thin, the paper will turn into a soggy mush.
6. Dip the paper into the paste and use your index finger and middle finger to act like a squeegee to run down the strip of paper.
7. Place the strip on your form, crisscrossing to make overlapping layers.
8. When you are done, place in a warm, dry area to dry.

Once the design is completely dry

* remove form by cutting a slit in the bottom of the form and pulling out form, or pop the balloon.
* Decorate with tempera paint.

let's make some masks and pretend we are good people.


nice. ty. i am going to become a 'crafty lady' soon and abandon the othered

jereme said...

well you are a fucking asshole if you abandon the othered.


what othered

jereme said...

you know what othered.


its ok to give up mania


serious unserious is important

jereme said...

giving up is awesome if you are a weak and like to be petted by your mommy's soft hand.

the bleak ryan manning.


giving it up and calling it a day are very different i think

i meant calling it a day

i could never stop if i wanted to

but i can stop certain things

someone should fart near me soon

jereme said...

who can tell you moody sod.

i want to come paddle your butt cheeks and sing otis redding in your ear.

i would like to shake your hand before i die.

jereme said...

go bears.


i am going to sound like an ass more if i keep talking more

i would like the shake of the hand of you, it will happen, i am not a good shaker of hands though, i always get called out and we have to start over.

jereme said...

god forbid people who are not real once you are no longer real might think you are an ass.

they will write about you in the literary version of tiger beat.

i am mediocre at the shaking thing. it weirds me the fuck out.


people including myself

what ever happened to poker

jereme said...

yes yourself. go back to original, photocopy and examine.

learn to love yourself/drop the ego and this all goes away.

i still play poker. not online. online was pissing me off because i could not play at the stakes i want to play.

thank you IRS.

played yesterday actually.

i will play if you play. we can collude and be internet tough guys.

we will garner mad pussy.

i am serious. next weekend i will play online with you. it is a sandbox date time fun.

Ken Baumann said...

My favorite part, thoughts that I think I thought alot for thought:

'I am trying to convince myself to stop talking and doing things around in this internet area but all that is is a tendency in me to want to be contrary no matter what, and really I am too frightened of being awake in the awake clod to not come on the internet, as much as I may try to manifest the idea that I could disappear at will.'


Mike Young said...

i'm not a writer i'm a lonesome country singer

i'm not a writer i'm a lonesome country singer

i'm not a writer i'm a lonesome country singer

i'm not a writer i'm a lonesome country singer

i'm not a writer i'm a lonesome country singer

i'm not a writer i'm a lonesome country singer

matthew savoca said...

haha. this was maybe your most entertaining blog post yet. "i am metabolism" is really funny. as i was reading this post, there were many parts during which i kept saying to myself, 'oh i have to remember to quote that when i leave a comment.'


thank you for corroborating my sanity fellaz ;P