Look of the site’s different because i’ve kind of hated the old one for months and months, but’ve just been too lazy.
Started a tumblr for some reason: here. Not sure if i’ll keep it up, but i may end up scrapping this and moving over there. Hard to say at the minute. I like the way you can make things look over there, but maybe the way things look here are okay, too.
June’s in thirty minutes, which means half the year is over. I projected 200,000 words by this point, but am about 50k~60k shy. So it goes.
But, I mean, ~140k in six months isn’t bad, and, in the last nine or ten months, I’m well over 300,000.
For now, though, I maybe am already giving up.
All these years I’ve been looking for an impossible love.
I have dubious morals.
What do you call ‘having dubious morals’?
Being dubious about other people’s morals.
Got my medical bills back and they’re so inexpensive, it’s a wonder people bother to be injured in america at all.
Funny thing, i’ve been planning on making a new post for a few days, but somehow have nothing to say now. Went on an island adventure recently, which was all kinds of fun. Accidentally wrote a novella, science fiction. Did some critiques on Joseph Quintela‘s chapbooks, which should be published this summer if i am to be king and decider of all things ever. He got my experimentalism fluids going, which, i mean, it’s where my head’s been at for years, but i’m always holding myself back, trying to keep stories going, and not pander to my own nonsense and fall into asemia, which i’m always in danger of. I’m not much of an experimentalist, when it comes down to it, because when i begin that way, i get rather incomprehensible, like my existential nightmare of a werewolf novel, which is about ninety pages of just unreadable prose, as is my twenty page verse novel in progress, which is like a linguistic jungle full of knives instead of blades of grass. But that’s all and aside. Not even sure what i’m on about.
Waiting to hear back about the novel yet, though it’s only been twelve days. I don’t know. I had so much to say in my head. Life continues as normal. Lots of writing, lots of working. Going to hopefully start writing pieces about my life in Korea again for ThunderDome, which is full of new content right now, so check out the homepage there. Big things in the works there, too.
What else? I wrote a poem, or something. I think this was yesterday.
Made a new plan, too, about some possibly cool things i’ll be in the process of doing soon.
I fell in love with a girl for a moment and a moment more but the moment was lost in waves and written on wind.
New story today at ThunderDome. Cannibal Cabaret. Click the link if you’re so inclined.
It’s less gruesome than it sounds, I do believe. Part of the Mayhem issue there, so check out the other names,as well.
My sleep makes no sense anymore. Falling to it when the sun stretches over the mountains and then only hours at a time after that. One day i’ll get this right. Sleep proper. Spending the day lounging because too much activity pains my delicate frame. Still recovering from surgery, which is an annoyance of the highest order.
Writing all day.
Another story today at OWC. Click the link for The First Words of the Last Poet. It’s barely over 200 words, so you should have time to read it, yeah?
Finally got to see Norwegian Wood, Tran Anh Hung’s adaptation of Haruki Murakami’s novel.
Beautiful and sad, just like the novel. Full of longing and melancholy and shortsighted hope. Absolutely loved it, really, but i’m sentimental. Beautifully shot, acted, and scored.
Bin Laden’s dead and people are quick to congratulate, not thinking about the ramifications of celebrating the murder of a man. Ten years to kill one man. Three wars, trillions of dollars, and we’ve given no relief to the victims of his attack or to the heroes who saved countless lives and’re now dying of cancer for being a hero. And, to add insult to this injury, they need to prove they’re not terrorists. That’s right. The New York firefighters who spent weeks saving people from the rubble of the twin towers must prove they are not terrorists before they can be eligible for the relief they are so dearly owed, if nothing else, then as gratitude.
Imagine if we celebrated this way every time we killed an Arab man.
So sing your songs, dance your praises, but remember that nothing’s changed. Not one single thing except there’s one more murder to add to the decade long massacre.
Don’t Leave is now up at Outside Writer’s Collective. It’s extremely short, but maybe enough to get your blood boiling.
Today begins the search for representation!