Seriously, Shades of Grey? WTF?

Much to my chagrin I have discovered there is a Twilight Series fanfic novel. It gets worse. It has the same name as this blog. This, I believe, is further evidence of my suspicions that we need to increase silver and garlic importation by drastic percentages, immediately.

Daily Word Vomit - 7 April, 2012

In general, I tend to think too much. I can't stop it. Neither of my parents ever directly told me that I was or still am affected by ADD today, but my mom's lighthearted jokes and my own evaluation of myself seem to point me in the direction of thinking, "mmmyeah, you're a fucking spaz". It's ok. I don't chase butterflies. I'm not hyperactive. I don't hit strangers. But I can never seem to focus on the important stuff like, "why aren't you looking for a job?", or, "how can I turn sliced cheese, mustard and some cream cheese into a meal?", or, "what the fuck are you doing with your life?". Just today my dad asked me to call him about doing my taxes, and yet here I sit, not doing my taxes. I don't have the answers to these questions.

However, despite my apparent fetish for wallowing in misery, I can't stop thinking. I must look such a fool to the outside world; a loner, a loser, a problem. But I am fascinated by cause and effect, especially in an introspective sense. I'm very out of touch with my own emotions, and I've been on a crusade to listen more attentively to them for a while now.

It's not working out.

But I'm analyzing every little move I make, to the point where I see patterns in my behavior that are reflected in others around me. Call it normal common sense to be able to understand that someone is mad at you; I want to know why anger is their reaction. If I catch on before it's been brought directly to my attention, I call it a fucking miracle.

I snuffed out my anger a long time ago. For a large portion of my life anger was my driving force. It inspired me. It comforted me. It was the only emotion I felt was justified. I got angry, I wrote. I got pissed off, I played the drums. My parents got on my nerves, I got lost in the woods so I could find my way out. It was my release. Don't get me wrong, I still get annoyed by typical things; damp clothes in the drier, my roommate's cat shitting on the wall again (yes, that actually happens fairly frequently), missing my train by two seconds because some fatass escalefter won't budge when I ask for passage, an apathetic parent lets their three year old run between my legs while I'm carrying hot food at work, or I'm out of weed. It happens. I'm still human, as far as I'm aware. But my inspiration is gone.

I banished my rampant rage from my body because it was doing serious harm. By the time I moved out of my mom's house when I was 17, I had posters of shit I didn't even like on the walls just so I could hide the innumerable fist-sized holes in my walls. I shattered a pool cue over my own head. I had mastered the art of throwing a screwdriver point-first into the wall from a distance of six feet, just in case. I'd get so worked up that I didn't realize what I was doing or saying until after all was said and done and I had a fresh hole to be covered with a map of San Andreas. My friends felt much the same, and the ones that didn't allowed me to escape that world into one that didn't matter.

When I decided to finally put down the torch and pitchfork and cut the world a little slack, it was great. I totally changed. I discovered love, real love. Granted, later it was hideously stripped away and partly by my own hand, but I found it nonetheless.

I'm still learning to love myself. It's a long road.

But along with my anger went my inspiration. Nothing moves me. Nothing excites me. I dropped out of school (HUGE mistake for anyone with the misfortune to be reading this), lost touch with friends, lost touch with life. I'm still struggling to catch up.

Ketchup.

No rest for the wicked

Strands of soft, golden sunlight pierce the thin dinginess of the windowpane. Their benevolent presence radiates outward, all things nearby awash in victorious glow, a splendorous bath offered by Apollo in which to bask. All things fade. Warm comfort seeps deep into my demeanor; I feel no pain. I feel no pleasure. I simply am, neither speaking nor listening.

Amateur haiku

UNTITLED

A cool mist descends
How noble is the sunlight
Vanquished by the moon

Sun through window spills
Light reveals a filthy mess
Soul not standing tall

REDEYE

Eyes wide open still
Sleep escapes my restlessness
Sunrise visits all

Wander, vagabond
Search the Earth for your lost soul
Never forgotten

Stumble upon it
So that its nature be true
And benevolent

Fear not for its loss
Rejoice in its many gifts
No ceremony

Terrible zombie movie, take one

An old zombie thriller plot my brother and I never finished writing, set in Lebanon, Connecticut. Laughable execution but I like the general push. Everything here is exactly as written. 

PLOT

• Start fairgrounds
• Mack to Exeter
• Pull into Jasper's (turn around), (18 wheeler)
• Down 207 to home, create weapons cache from household items

WEAPONS

• Longsword
• Katana
• Cane sword
• Pump shotgun (from the trucker) 
• 12 gauge 
• Nunchucks (against zombies?)
• .22 rifle
• AK-47 bullet
• Bo
• Machete (forget, return later for it)

SEARCH NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE FOR SUV KEYS

• Kill two zombies in lawn
• sneak through house looking for keys
• Return home and fire up '85 Silverado

GATHER A GROUP

1. Scott - (intro: conversation describes him as a ball-out crazy character; reckless and without sense of pain or guilt - 'perfect for hunting z's'. Speech plays out over montage of Scott lifting, executing a brutal rugby takedown and delivering bone-crunching one-punch KO's in a barfight. Find him at his house, annihilating zombies with a small lead pipe)
2. Bender - (intro: another wreckless type with no sense of danger, montage of Bender cracking a whip with the precision of Indiana Jones, climbing radio towers and using full propane tanks for target practice)

VIRUS

• Dying off of bats (feed on mosquitos)
• Mosquitos carry viral infection
• Mosquitos infect humans, farm animals, pets, etc. 
• Turns people into beings capable of operating at the highest potential of their physical forms at all times, eat living flesh, extremely aggressive
• Infection returns Z's to animal state of mind; bulk of infected travel in hordes that number well into the hundreds, sweeping through areas in search of food 

ENCOUNTER

• Single figure standing in middle of field
• Barely visible through trees
• Sudden realization: 50 - 60 zombies in woods at far edge of field
• "YOU" - short break in line of vision; confusion
• "What the fuck WAS that?"; 10 - 20 zombies burst through tree line, attacking car
• Fishtail through turn, evading/hitting sporadic Z's until end of street

KILLS

• Standing out sunroof with shotgun, taking out zombies who manage to cling to car
• Cop eaten while tasing himself via zombie

And then the only actual writing we ever did;

"Holy fucking shit!"

Matt's screams sounded like a caged beast trying to tear its way out of his vocal cords. 

"We're going through 'em!"

The car's engine roared its approval as Matt slammed down on the gas. Time to think didn't exist. You just went with your gut and trusted your instinct to survive. 

I've never put on a seatbelt so fast. 

The front end of the car took the legs off the first zombie we hit, clean at the knees. At seventy-five miles an hour, his - its torso didn't have much choice as to where it was going. A sickening thud reverberated through the frame of the entire car as the infected's head nearly punched through the hood, swung at the end of the fulcrum made by its legs and the force of the car. 

"Jesu-"

It was at this moment that I truly grasped the meaning of utter fucking chaos. What remained of the body on the hood now howled toothlessly at us though the windshield, its own blood pouring out of a football-sized hole where its teeth, and jaw, had just been seconds earlier. 

First and Foremost

This is a repository. It holds the contents of journals, napkins, notepads, fleeting and inconsequential daydreams and otherwise. Read, or do not. Judge, or do not. Discuss, or do not. This is not for you. 

Above all, this is not for human consumption.