Friday, June 24, 2005

So I found this site. Apparently it sells T-shirts. Cool so far right? I mean everyone likes the T-shirts. I like T-shirts, you like T-shirts. Well there, of course, is a twist to the tees. You see, these are psych t-shirts. Yes sir, psych t-shirts declare you as being mentally unstable. There's grandiose personality, OCD, narcissism, dependent personality, tri polar, and the list goes on and on. The downside is that the shirts run $24.50. Ouch. I'd rather share my mentality with my actions at those prices. Either way, check out the site, especially if you're feeling crazy and have a few tens lying around.

Something I haven't done in a while. . .mp3s. I used to do it all the time, and for some reason I quit. Oh wait, I couldn't get into UAH's server. . .heh heh heh. . .not that I did anything illegal. I don't want you to get that impression, because that would be wrong. But I now have my webspace back. So what should I do with said webspace? Well, I'll put up a decent mp3. One that isn't done by myself is what I mean.

I first heard this song on a mix CD that D.A. gave me. Its been awhile since his Italian highness has graced me with music, and while I have the lack of shame, and the opportunity, I'd like to say what's up with that? But I digress. So this song is by the Rapture. Ironically enough, I didn't like this song when I first heard it. That's because it starts with counting. Which makes me think of Sesame Street, and we won't touch all my issues with that show. (Cheer up Oscar, you're a grouch!) Anyway, add that to fact they talk about a "constant heaven" and the band's name is the Rapture, well, it just sounded like a cheesy Christian band, and if there's one thing I don't do, its cheesy christian listening. Why? Hyprocrisy, I guess. On whose part is anybody's guess. Anyway, ere tis govnah!

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Well, good news everybody. I'm back. I'm alive and well, just really busy. Well, less busy and more unconcerned about blogging faithfully. But not to fear, my blogging is still going on, just had a bit of a dead spot for two and a half weeks. Also, I don't have a desire to finish my story. You see, I was hoping to touch on a lot of different things that people care about and have the character destroy those things, all culminating to him being chased by the police as he breaks into a nursing home to assault his grandmother. Don't worry, she survives, but because she calls him crazy, and he realizes that he is insane, and that caring is just that. Sanity. And the story ends. But honestly, that sounds really sucky even to me, so I decided to let it die there. Also, I am very cool. Just thought I'd throw that in. But yeah, I'm okay, and I'm doing well. Expect a good thought tomorrow. Deep and introspective it will be.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

The night air was humid and sticky. As he walked up to his car, he felt a familiar emotion come over him. It wasn't his first car, but it was definitely the first one he actually wanted.

Do I care about this car? If so how much do I care about it? He took his key out and pressed it up against the car's paint. Could he. . .no. No he couldn't. He couldn't just key his own car. It was financially unsound, he'd have to just get it repainted again, and that would come out of his own. . .

A smile came over his face. He pressed the key harder and began dragging it over his car. I don't care about this car, or the money the paint job will cost. . .in fact. . .

He got into the car, started it up, and peeled out as he took off up the road. At the end of his street, he could see a red traffic light. He started to press the brake. His eyes narrowed as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel and shifted his foot to the gas. The tachometer showed his rising rpms as the car shot forward into the oncoming traffic.

He braced for an impact, but suprisingly all the other cars around him stopped to avoid hitting him. Two cars swerved, and crashed together in his rearview mirror. He laughed as he realized that they cared.

As long as everyone else cares, I don't have to. I can do whatever I want, and everyone else will bend to my rules, just to avoid breaking their own. This is incredible. Now that I think about it, I wouldn't mind having fifteen thousand dollars in cash. He ripped the steering wheel hard right.

The car careened off the road and smashed into a telephone pole. Metal wrapped itself into a tight hug around the wooden pole. Smoke and steam filled the air. His world spun as he tried to find his seat belt.

That was definitely not one of my brightest moments. Apparently I care about living. Of course, I have to. If I didn't care about living, then not caring wouldn't matter very much anyway.

He coughed and wasn't surprised to see blood spurt out of his mouth. "Great. Just what I wanted. Internal bleeding," he said out loud. He crawled out of the wreckage in just enough time to see the ambulance, police, and fire truck pull up. Paramedics rushed towards him. The world spun again.

Yeah, this was stupid.

He pushed away the paramedics who were trying to get him to lay still on the ground and stumbled off into the night, away from the car, away from the accident, away from the commotion. A hand grabbed him.

"Sir, sir, you need to sit down here, on the ground, and be still. You've just been in a horrible accident. Have you been drinking sir? What caused this accident?"

"I didn't care."

"Excuse me sir."

"I said I DON'T care! Now let go of my arm."

"Sir, you have to sit still. . ."

"What do I have to say to get you to leave me alone? I know. I don't have health insurance, and its a good chance that you won't be getting paid for all this sympathy. How about that? Hmm? Hmm? Oh now you want to leave me alone? Because there's no money involved?"

"No sir, because you're acting irrationally. I'm backing away for my own safety."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night. Why don't you go write up a report saying I refused help."

The paramedic walked away, slowly, as if something weren't right, but he couldn't do anything about it. Something was strange about this one, as if he were possessed with something.

He finally sat down to make the world stop moving. It felt a little better, but now he had a burning in his chest. But that wouldn't stop him. Not tonight. Some doctor could look him over in the morning. Right now, he still had more to discover.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

So here we go. The promised story. Enjoy.

Her voice droned on and on, relentlessly forcing him to feign interest for a subject that she found unceasingly conversational. Herself. All she wanted to talk about was herself. How her day was, what happened, how that made her feel, and was she right to feel that way? Her new shoes, her overtime pay in her check, the shoes she wanted to spend it on. . .on and on and on and on.

I really don't care, he thought. Not about her or how she feels. I'm just sitting here, wasting my time and hers. I should hang up.

He pressed the end button and dropped the phone in disgust. "What time is it?" he said to himself. His eyes struggled to focus on the clock, but he couldn't get them to work. His glasses. He needed his glasses.

Suddenly the phone rang. "Take a hint! I hung up on you!" he shouted.

He sat upright. Wait. I don't care? I feel as if I don't care about more than just her. What all don't I care about anymore?

There was a bowl of Cheetos sitting on his bed. Do I care about this room? He looked hard at the bowl, and then picked it up and flung against the wall. I guess not.

The phone rang again. There was an orange spot on the wall now. But he didn't care. An unknown freedom swept over him as a smile crept onto his face. This is different, he thought. I wonde just how much I don't care, how much. . .freedom do I have now that I don't care. . .or whether or not this is truly freedom.

"I have to find out the extent of this sudden lack of concern. As long as I can remember, I've always believed that such a dismissal wouldn't result in freedom. But here I am. I feel free."

He got up from his bed, and grabbing his phone, he dialed his last missed call.

As he listened to the ring, he started pulling on his jeans.

"Hey its. . ."
"Oh great its you! We must have gotten disconnected somehow. I figured maybe your phone died or you went out of ser. . ."
"No, I hung up on you."
"I said, I hung up on you."
". . ."
"Don't sound so surprised. In fact, don't sound anything. I rather enjoy it when you're quiet. Which brings me to the reason of my call. The way I see it, I'll be able to enjoy a lifetime of peace and quiet, just as long as you're not anywhere near that lifetime to taint it with your epiphany of words. So do me a favor. Don't call me. . ."
"What? How can you say that? We've been together for a year now, and I don't think. . ."
"No, no you don't think. That's what I'm trying to say. You don't think. You don't know anything but yourself. That's all you talk about. And its not even deep thoughts about yourself, its all shallow, mindless. . ."
"That's what you think? That I'm shallow, that I'm mindless?" Her voice was starting to crack, and he could just see her face, tears streaming out her eyes, as he was slowly breaking her heart. He waited to see if he felt anything.


"That's what I think. You're pathetically shallow, you have no purpose in life besides being a trophy for some old "gentleman" who will pamper you and do his best not to be around you enough to have to listen to your useless blathering."

He could hear her sobbing now.

"Don't call me again. Ever. I hate you."

"Don't worry, you disgust me. Oh, and as far as you hating me, well, I don't care. Be sure to stay alive long enough to give me my stuff back."

The line disconnected.

Something's not right, he thought. I should be hurt. I just dumped the girl I swore I would marry, the girl who I just devoted a year of my life to, hoping to love her, and I don't feel anything. I just. . .don't. . .care.

"Amazing. I have no emotions. I wish I'd discovered that before. Before I spent all that money on dinners, and gifts, and all those boring two month anniversary dinners. Two month anniversary. Its ridiculous. An anniversary is an annual celebration, anyway."

His shirt in place, his eyes wondered outside. His car. Did he care about that?

"Let's go see," he muttered as he grabbed his keys in eagerness.

Shocking no? Oh don't worry, its gets worse. Of course, you might not like it. Well guess what? I don't care.

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

So I've got this story in my mind. And when I sleep at night, I dream about writing it. I dream that I write it down, with pen and paper, and then I show it to the world. But when everyone sees it, they react to it in absolute disgust. Horror. And somewhere in my mind, I know its the best piece of literature to ever grace the Earth with its presence. But somehow, no one appreciates it.

I do have a story, and I'm working on how I want it to look, so whenever I finish playing around with it, trying to make it look, and feel how I think it should, then I'll post it up here. For the world to see, of course. Lets just hope that the reaction isn't as dramatic as it is in my dreams.