26.Feb.2001

another brick in my ass

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die kreatur

Frankly, I hate most things. I am an insipidly passionate creature with a knack for digging my heart further into grounds of iniquity. But my mailing list was just spammed. This upsets me. Why? We are mostly striving writers. Who isn't, these days? Take a look around you. You're a writer, obviously. See that guy? He's a writer. Yeah. He just trashed his novel of 7 years because it wasn't up to his standards. Yeah. Believe me, honeychile, we are a dime-a-dozen.
But I lose my patience when someone puts DHTML cursor effects on their web-page and call themselves serious. I lose my patience for people who open up e-zines and promise to publish your shite, only to misplace it, or find the content too odd, or only to not accept anything more from you. How many fucking more e-zines can we run to and STILL be obscure? Our work is to not be taken lightly. This is why I want to make my own website dedicated to real writers, not this 'heart-break' trite shit. Please. And she also had 703 hits. She's talking about a fucking HEARTBREAK in the fucking 9th grade! Here's my masterpiece:
One day, at age seven, I took a shit, and tied my shoe.
It's beautiful.
I am drunk and angry. All the good people of the world need to be heard, not locked in this insular vein of their subconscious, waiting to be heard. Get out there and fucking make yourself heard. We don't need this bullshit anymore. The end. No more. Fini.
Of course, I say this now, but my entire existence is built primarily on ephemerality. God bless Rum and Cokes.

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time & machine