What will be worse?

I find my soul, scattered in the gutter near a bar. 

Homeless, frozen and robbed (both of its glory and cash).

I escort it carefully home, but it is soon sent to get flowers

and I watch it lowered into earth, a dark homely prison.

I find my body in a distance, my mind is a mess

and my friend is a phone. I shelter myself with a clear household name,

so I can climb in and relive its duress.

My body and I united last in one expression of ending shame,

Will it be worse when I find these things true, my soul is a transient and body, recluse.

Or if, from comatose, I wake to find that my friend, the phone,

is the kind I must call

and not one I talk into. 

I made quantum theory do it.

To start, I'm working with a very specific interpretation of quantum physics here. I know a little less than I could have learned in order to write this blog, but I do what I can with a week of prep time. If you have insight, corrections, or other points to consider, please comment below.

I was recently sent a piece of pseudo-news stating that science may have found science god the higgs bosson particle. I don't claim to really understand exactly how the higgs bosson is supposed to affect physics, but my gut tells me that some crazy shit could go down if we figure out how to harness it. 

This news, or news of possible news, got me curious about quantum theory in general. I've heard some pretty outlandish explanations of how some people explain it, but those didn't sit right with me. So I got to doing some reading myself. This part of the working understanding that I've come up with: Particles in the universe are able to survive in superpositions where its traits are both true and false at the same time. This superposition phenomenon deteriorates once the particle is measured. Measurement forces the particle to choose one state or the other. This means that by merely measuring our universe, we are creating a physical reality different than what may have occurred without measurement. When I hear the term "measure" I also hear "do science."

This means that in order for the world to exist in its current state, it needed to be observed. In order for there to be an observer, there needed to be something that could discern the true from the false: intelligence. So, in order for the universe to exist in the way that it does now (which, I will note, contains people), it needed some form of intelligence to come and observe that the universe is like this. Not only that, but it needed that intelligence to come and do science to confirm that the universe is here. 

So, the current universe requires the ability to observe and the ability to discern, which is pretty much how I would distinguish most humans from other species. But, the group of humans who presumably do the most observation and discernment are scientists. 

If observation and discernment are enacted by scientists, and the universe needs observation and discernment to exist in its current state, and the current universe contains humans, then: scientists created humans. 

Now the thought experiment, Schrödinger's cat, exposes many of the absurdities in quantum theory and the idea of superposition. But, it doesn't point out that quantum theory suggests scientists created human beings by measuring and discerning that we are here (and also discerning that reality is a thing). 

Of course, in no explanation that I've seen does any reputable quantum theorist say "measurements created our universe," but no one denies it either. The suggestion is there. I just want to point it out.

I see quantum theory as the ultimate "I am the center of the universe" philosophy. It seems to scream "if we weren't around measuring and discerning, who knows what could be going on around here?" Who knows indeed?

Rawk Tha Vote,

Here's how it works, I come up with some (hopefully) clever lines and then I ask you, my readers, to vote for the line that you like most. That line will then become the theme for my next blog and piece of short fiction to be posted later this week. The lines for voting are below.

1: Quantum theory made me do it.

2: Appearances can be deceiving, but they try not to.

3: It seems that when we send something out into our world, it's always picked up. Even if we had no intentions of where it should go, it ends up in the wrong hands somehow.

4: The more I know, the less I care that I know it.

This is the first time I'll be voting for any of the subjects. I won't make a habit of it. (I voted for number 1.)

Vote either as a comment below or in the poll box to the right of your screen.

Vote fast and vote hard.

Lake Nest Syndrome

They found The Lock Ness Monster, but it was just a baby. A human child. They pulled him out in a net with a backhoe. Then he started leaking water. When he stopped, they assumed he was about a year old, not much more.

Scientists did science on him to figure out what was happening, but he just cried. They found a mother for him, but he still cried. She took great care of him, fed him, loved him. But he only stopped crying to sleep. If you watched him sleep, you could tell he was crying in his sleep.

So they put him back in the water. They trained him to sail, and sometimes he smiled when the boat rocked. Everyone was excited.

When he was thirteen, he went sailing alone in a storm. His boat was found crushed at harbor, and his mother was scared. A group of men found him swimming to shore the next night. His mother married one of those men.

His father and mother saved all they could and asked all around for donations. They got him a sea-worthy sailboat when he was 18. They never saw him again. His mother just cries.

The Ocean Is Coming.

I've got a phobia of the ocean. I've always had a problem with deep water, because I never really learned to swim. And, the ocean is like an ocean's worth of water, so I learn to swim even less in the ocean. It's a fear of dying. Drowning is not really a concern. We're all drowning all the time, it's how we live. If there were an instruction book on life, the advice would be much like this (Just replace the words "Mass Effect" with "being alive").

The problem  with me having this phobia is my relationship to the ocean. The Red Hot Chili Peppers say it best "Under water, where thoughts can breathe easily, far away you were made in the sea. Just like me." I feel I truly was made in the sea, long ago, before the sea was something that life realized was different than land. I feel a maternal connection to the ocean. In the deepest parts of me, I respect her, love her, and long for her. She feels the same towards me, or so I imagine.

She may want the best for me wherever that is, but she'd prefer that I come and see her once and a while, even often if that's possible. So you know what she did? She went and put things that I want right off the coast, so I'll move nearby, and whenever I've got time, I'll spend it with my motherly friend, lady ocean. She organized a place where my passion, my interests, and even some family are all nearby. As all mothers are, she's manipulative, so she even tricked her good friend, the weather, to be nice while I'm there too. She's prepared a calm dinner-party with exquisite food, elegant decor, ravishing ladies, smooth drinks, and hammocks. I'm the guest of honor.

That's my working model of who the ocean is. It is appealing, I can't lie (I'm actually a skilled liar, this is just a turn of phrase kthx?). But this vision of the ocean produces a new phobia, one that impacts me much more than my fear of water and dying. I see an opportunity, but I also see a trick, a trap, a troll. What if I change there? What if the sea air, the humidity, the fake smiles turn me against the sea of mountains that I've learned to love? What if I can never come back? What if I die a living death, and I'm cursed to wander a superficial plane of honest hard work, fulfillment, and flocks of sea birds as a ghastly Conquerer of Shambala whose soul has dripped out of his ears from all the praise, money, and worldly and spiritual pleasures that I attain?

I fear that my mother ocean, in her insatiable lust for my company has not taken into account the type of man who might develop from a stony and dry home. I fear that she has not considered what I might become if my arid spongy skin is exposed to the elements, her elements, for a lifetime. But the ocean is coming, one way or another.

________________________________________________


Thanks to everyone who voted. I should have a silly little story for you up soon.

In case you're wondering, I'm considering moving to California, likely the San Diego or Anaheim area.

Though I doubt you'll heed to my request here, please comment on any advice that you've got for someone with my condition or comment with any amounts of money that you're willing to donate to help me overcome my phobia, which cripples my heart, drags me through mud, reticulates splines, eats my beef, cures my pork, and steals my Pokemon.

Votes are for voting.

Vote for the subject below that you love most. If you outvote everyone else, you get to make me write about your favorites! Cool huh? Cool. Pick one and vote for it on the right side of your screen. I'm recycling some that people have asked me to put up for voting again. If your 


1: I'm afraid of the ocean only because I might decide to stay. I'll feel like I've found a real home.


2: Appearances can be deceiving, but they try not to. 


3: Only say what's in your heart - that is to say, be silent please.


4: Old traditions are the worst. New traditions are the... worst.


Vote time. Cool.

Harvey's Soap.

Harvey's wife had bought the wrong soap. She knew it. At least, he knew that she knew it. It was obvious anyways. The soap he always bought for himself was a tan color, this was blue. He didn't have time, so he made the mistake of asking his wife. Of course she ruined this too. She was getting back at him for something, but he didn't care what.

His face dry and probably cracking, he went to work like every day. Like every day he took the same ride up to the elevator, took the same route past that prick Ricky's office, Laura, that bitch, David's uptight secretary. Harvey sat in his lonely cubicle. Emails e-meetings, online poker. He finished his work by lunch. He'd usually hang a sign saying "Harvey Out" on his cubicle and head to the bar when this happened.

Harvey couldn't eat at lunch. He couldn't do anything. He obsessed over how dry his face was. Scratching it, rubbing his eyes, and then he obsessed over the zits he'd get from touching his face. Then a moment of clarity, finally. He saw his co-workers in their little cliques, they were holding him back, always shooting him down. But he knew who they really were, and he'd get them back. He watched them until lunch was over. Everyone walked back to their fake ass little lives, David, his secretary, Laura and Ricky. Harvey wondered what his wife was doing, what would she do next to get back at him?

Harvey stood tall once he was sure they were all back to work. Pulling something from his briefcase, he took the same route past Ricky's office, Laura... He hung up his sign, erased the marker and wrote "Harvey wins." He drove home instead of to the bar.

"Oh, you're home early," Harvey's wife said. There she goes, Harvey thought, being the fucking genius she is. Harvey kissed her and sat down at the table. "Do you want me to make you a sandwich?"

"No, I just had lunch." But, Harvey hadn't eaten. They heard sirens. Harvey's wife looked out the window.

"Oh, maybe Mrs. Lewis fell again, the police are there."

"Maybe they'll come here too," Harvey said back to her.

"Don't be silly, why would th-"

Harvey kissed his wife again, against the wall. He groped her breast with one hand, held her waist with the other. Then he pulled away. He leaned down to grab his briefcase, smiled up at his wife, and said "let me just go over and see if they need any help." Another siren rang, another police car. Harvey's wife winked at him and headed for the bedroom.

Harvey pulled something from his briefcase once he walked into Mrs. Lewis's yard. The police shot him down.

We may be men but... fuh this, Jason beat me to it.

I guess there's a "talk about how dudes are feminine" vibe in the air. Most of you (there are 8 of you) voted for number four, asking me to talk about my skin and soap and showering and stuff.  Well, Jason beat me to it... I was really hoping that you'd all vote for "yes," and then I could make some clever joke about it. If you had, we wouldn't be in this predicament. But, even though it's certainly your fault, please blame the following mess on me. Anywaysss,

Whether or naught Jason told my idea for a blog "how does it feel to be in the rapesack," I still have a loose obligation to write about something that has to do with showering, dudes, and skinsoaps.

Soap, (see skinsoaps) every dude that knows his ass from a hole in the ground wishes that he was Tyler Durden. We wish that we made soap, we wish we bung Helena Bonham Carter (but not in all of her movies), we wish we didn't have to pay for food, and we wish that we knew our food didn't have good ol' bad human fluids in them. But really, we want to be trailblazers, that's why we wish we were Tyler. There's just something about blazers and taking them on trails that gets dudes all riled up and ready for milk's favorite cookie (Oreo ofc).

If you're looking to bed a sexy man, then just trick him into thinking that doing so will change the way he sees the world and free him from the bonds of societal expectation. If you're trying to bed a man that you don't think is sexy, you have self-esteem issues.

Transition (pretend there is a transition paragraph here).

Some women and some other women call men dogs. Rightfully so, men are similar to dogs in the following ways:

• we breathe very hard out of our noses when we get excited
• we cry when we are hurt 
• we die with honor 
• we bleed when we are cut 
• we love cheese (really, we can't help ourselves) 
• we hump furniture
• we are loyal to a fault (just the one)
• we love eating from bowls
• we love the literary genius of Charles Dickens 
• Magnets, how do they work? (No link? Really? You must be slacking, Mark.)

Those are the only similarities. This list is 100% comprehensive and verified by science. Any other similarities you may see should be viewed as an error in logic and really just a lack of research on your part. Know how we're way different from dogs? Dogs hate showers, like all the time.

But dudes love showers. If you want to know exactly what kind of crazy a guy is? Watch him shower. If you want to rile a dude up like he's just gone trailing with his blazer? Shower with him (see shower with a dude). Want to get a dog scared for his life? Make him take a bath or shower. And your dog could care less if you shower with it, it just wants the eff out of there, by any means necessary. I've seen a dog rob an old lady just to get out of bathing. Maybe the whole dog analogy is a little flawed.

Well, there's my completely disjointed blog entry for this week. However, I did get a 3 out of 3 on talking about dudes, showers, and skinsoaps. So praise me.

As of yet, I don't think anyone has actually left a comment on what I asked them to. So this time just comment on whatever you feel like. The weather's good. Gibberish is fun, roman numerals. No one cares. I care.

I took a week off. Time for voting again.

** Voting Closed, number 4 wins **

First off, I took a week away from this mr. blog to do my finals. Get sad about it k?

This time I decided to (realized that I could) do the polling with a gadget on the side of the screen. It should be over here------------------------>
Somewhere.

The four subjects about which I may write about this week are:

#1: I'm afraid of the ocean only because I might decide to stay. I'll feel like I've found a real home.

#2: I never hope to be wise. I would rather watch the wind blow, waters swell. In a world where the carnal is at odds with wisdom, I choose happiness.

#3: Appearances can be deceiving, but they try not to.

#4: Yes, we're men, but we still care how our skin feels after a shower.

Vote on the items above inside of teh item over there and then what wins will get written about. If you vote by commenting like the past, I'll laugh. Cool? Cool.

** Voting Closed, number 4 wins **

I want students to wish I never lived.

First, my apologies for being all sorts of late this week. Well, I apologize if you cared at all. If you didn't notice, no apology. It's only my second week and I fall behind. What was I thinking starting a blog just before finals? Comment below if you have the answer.


Anywaysss. The winning line this week is "I want mine to be the poetry that needs footnotes, words that need defining. I want to write from the past forward. I want students to wish I never lived." First, This line only works the way that I intended it to based on a specific premise. I must be remembered for my writing. 


That minor detail aside, (no one could forget meeee. Right?) why will future college dudes tell girls they like me when trying to capture their clothes? What is it about MY work that everyone will remember? I'll start answering this question backwardsly. I'll start why I'm not memorable.


I'm not a master of form. If anyone remembers my poetry (they won't), it's unlikely they'll care about how I distributed my syllables, developed my rhyme scheme, or how I actually am a haiku instead of a human... or instead of cumin, I'm not cumin. 


I don't want young sexy minds to learn from me that they are the master of their words. "But can't people learn that from any great writer?" Good question. I don't care. It doesn't matter if my work demonstrates this concept better than everything. Words aren't a square-peg round-hole sort of thing. All kids are gonna' take my round words and put them in whichever hole they want, but if I were to choose which hole to put my stuff into...


My legacy should be as absurd as my work, as my life, as my mind... as my cumin. I want professors to profess that my work demonstrates the eternal concept of wormhats, or that the earth is the sun's sandwich, just waiting to be punched. Or perhaps they should teach their students that my work demonstrates that anything funny or odd is also ironic... 


I'll take anything, if my work is taught in school, I'll be happy, or my ghostofme will be happy, but if I get to choose, I want my work to remembered, in a conventional way, for that which defies convention.


****


So, the real reason this blog post was so late is that I got distracted by this. (Winky face)


I don't see an obvious theme for what you should comment on for this blog, it was pretty self-indulgent, and doesn't really involve much of you (me), as my audience. So, comment below with your favorite drinky-poo and/or your favorite clothes. Or anything, that works.

A Publisher's Dream

If I were to write
and you were to read
and I confuse
and you were confused
Does that make us twins, brothers? enemies?

If I were to write
and you were to lie
and I were to die
and you lie
I prefer that my words outlive your lie.


****

Numbers 1 and 2 tied in votes, so I voted myself to break the tie (I voted for number 1, k?). I decided to swap the blog and poem dates for this week because otherwise I will fail my classes and therefore fail at graduating. I feel no sorrow for any inconvenience this caused you. Well, maybe a little sorrow.

As always, post comments as you please. Knock yourselves out, make yourself feel important.

Get tha vote on!

**Voting Closed**


Here are my subjects upon which you can vote this week! Enjoy them. Vote them.


#1: I want mine to be the poetry that needs footnotes, words that need defining. I want to write from the past forward. I want students to wish I never lived


#2:  I never hope to be wise. I would rather watch the wind blow, waters swell. In a world where the carnal is at odds with wisdom, I choose happiness.


#3: We've always preferred the frigid over the lush. We'd have a pet warthog, not a cat, and we'd rather die frozen on a winter mountain than be buried in a flowery meadow.


#4: Yes, we're men, but we still care how our skin feels after a shower. 


There's 1 less this week than last, so... vote on which one you would like for me to write about by commenting below please!


(smiley face)


**Voting Closed**

Save The Planet by Punching Holes in The Planet.

“Great news!”

“Hit me.”

“Josh Ashby died.”

“That’s the kid that?”

“Yeah, the Make-A-Wish kid. You won’t have to drill any more holes man.”

It was great news to most people. But I needed that dying little shit to stick around. Josh Asby is a – was a foul smelling little sadistic ass, no one liked him, no one wanted him. He was just the wrong kid for a rich man to get behind, and I was there to clean his mess up… and cleaning up some messes pays really well.

The news: “Fourteen-year-old mad scientist Josh Ashby reportedly died in his sleep this morning of leukemia.” The reporter speaks in an upbeat tone with a mad celebration in the background. Everyone’s excited that he’s dead, hell, I am a little bit, but my future just got a hell of a lot dimmer.

I drill holes for a living. I pick an open field, with at least a five-mile radius, and I drill a hole a little over 400 miles down. Sounds crazy as shit, but people can do some amazing stuff with the right incentive. Anyway, without getting too technical, I had to drill deep enough that I can catch and interrupt gamma light waves sent to the core. Craziest part was, it only took one person to set the drills up and get everything running.

Ashby was the reason I had to drill these holes in the first place. He was some sort of kid genius, but he got leukemia from one of his failed experiments. There was a huge public outcry to help his smart ass, and so Make-A-Wish jumped in. They told him they’d give him any one wish he wanted, so he chose to blow up the Earth.

I guess he had invented some gamma ray that’s supposed to change matter real fast. Theoretically, if he can concentrate this beam enough, it can penetrate to the Earth’s core, and cause some terrible chemical reaction large enough to cover the surface in molten lava. I don’t buy that the thing actually works, but they sent me out to stop it.

They tried to assassinate the kid, and of course Make-A-Wish wouldn’t endorse killing everyone, but some idiot billionaire rescued the kid and put him into hiding. Soon enough, some scientists confirmed that crazy light waves were bouncing off the earth’s core, so they got to stopping it.

They hired me to work the drills and disrupt the light signals, but since that was over… I had nearly a quarter billion dollars of debt for this giant drilling platform, and no more world threat meant no more job. I’m fucked.

If I sold my drills, it’d be at a huge loss, they weren’t set up for normal industrial use. Bankruptcy looked imminent, plus, I’d have to find some normal fake-ass job. I wouldn’t be able to tell women that I saved the planet for a living either. There goes my sex life.

I was all set up to start a drill that day too. It’s my favorite part, starting a hole. Hearing the drills grind, the earth moan, there’s nothing like it. Once it gets a few miles down, you can’t tell it’s working anymore. There was no point in starting the drill though, they’d probably complain I was wasting energy.

I was pissed, worried, numb. I got hammered. I started a bar fight, lost. I was about ready to just end it. Start my drill up, I’d jump into that hole and just get ground up into the earth and all that metal. I’d die the way I always wanted to live, raw, loud, cold, perfect. So I got all my things in order. Left a note, told my mom I loved her. Emptied my fridge, I was going to donate everything I could to some kid in Africa.

Then I checked my bank account… there was the deposit, $1.4 million, my normal check. Well, I guess if they were still paying me, it was still my job to drill holes.

Tell me what you think or whatever you want to tell me... If you love to.

Save Da Erf... Wait, Who?

Let's preface this, so that no one gets all confused. Someone will still get confused, but now I can claim it's not my fault, cause here's a preface. Can't argue with a preface.

Preface:

I'm not going to get into talking about climate change, there's too much research to get into there, and then everything just turns into usually pointless political bullshit. I'm not going there. Aaaanyways...

Being a person that loves words, I get anxious or critical when people needlessly misuse the language that I love. The language that is the language of English. Anyone that knows anything about language knows that it's okay to break rules, but people who are good at communicating will tell you that you only break rules if you've got a good reason. 

The term "save the earth" as it is used in so many activist's mouths, facebooks, event invites, and passions is one that has always confused and bothered me. It confuses me because I'm wondering what the earth needs saving from. I'm bothered because the motive behind this slogan is not the one they portrayed, it is a lie.

One who says "save the earth" implies that they think the earth needs saving, and that they, or someone with whom they will be able to contact, can save it. In my fairly normal, perhaps acutely sheltered life, I've never seen a threat to the planet. The planet Earth is a good, smart, nice good planet, and it can take care of itself. If it gets uncomfortable it shakes it out, if it wants an adventure, it goes on an ice age excursion. It's done this for billions of years. A man that I met, his name was Science, told me, "this earth thing has done this shit for something like 4 billion years, probably more." Science was a wise man, I take his word on it. 

So apart from an incoming astronomical catastrophe, or some Earth core explosion, I think the earth is safe without our help... Just saying. That's why I'm confused, there's no need to save the planet.

The real problem I have with "saving the planet" is everyone acts like this is some sort of selfless notion, it's not. What people really mean when they say, "save the planet," is, "try to stop that lots o' people gonna' die maybe." The Earth is fine. It was before we humans showed up, and I'm betting it will be if we leave, whether on a spaceship or otherwise. 

Trying to "save the planet" is purely a self-interested human instinct. We want our species to be preserved, and of course we do. If we aren't around who is going to sit around and come up with awesome stuff like, interwebs, touch screens, string theory, Batman movies, and colostomy bags? Honey badger don't do that stuff, it just takes what it wants. There are plenty of reasons to want humans to stick around, so why don't we just say that?

I don't understand why people might find it more compelling to save Da Erf when there are plenty of people around worth saving. If you really believe that changing the way we live our lives will preserve human life on this planet, or return your damned immortal soul to a haven of loving glory and light, play the shit out of that angle. I, for one, would be much more compelled by a cause that promises that we'll clone dinosaurs, so long as we help each other survive long enough, than a cause that asks me to save something that needn't be saved. 

Stop fronting please, that's all I ask. Your statement let's "save the earth," is a fraud, find a new one. I can think of a few hundred slogans that people could easily get behind, and none of them are confused lies like "save the earth," but you can still accomplish the same thing. You're breaking the rules of English without a real purpose, you're not saying what you mean. That's disingenuous, and not compelling, you can do better than that, I know you can. 

Kthxbai!

Did you read this and think I'm stupid? comment below!

Did you read this and come up with an awesome reason to keep humans around on da erf? comment below even harder plz!

More awesome slogans for the future:

"I want laser guns for my grandkids"

"Let raptor fights replace dog fights... 2312"

"Average people will embraces great art"

"I don't believe in reincarnation, but my clones will party forever!"

Also, for those who voted last week, the winner was number 2 (obv)... Numbers 1 and 4 got votes as well, so I'll move them onto next week's voting list, you can vote for them next week if you loved them. 

Week 1, the week of ones.

** Voting Over **

Just going to get to it. If you read my first post, congrats, you probably know what to do. If not, read it first plz, here. Just vote by commenting on this post, I'll probably work out a more elegant solution later. Feel free to post as anonymous, but try to refrain from voting more than once.

Options below:

#1: I want mine to be the poetry that needs footnotes, words that need defining. I want to write from the past forward. I want students to wish I never lived.

#2: Save the planet by punching holes in the planet.

#3: I've given her my home, and unless I get into those eyes again, I'll never be at rest.

#4:  I never hope to be wise. I would rather watch the wind blow, waters swell. In a world where the carnal is at odds with wisdom, I choose happiness.

#5: She spends her time, watching any story that will have her. She knows everyone, knows how to do everything, she has all the advice you would need, but it only guides you to where she is, lifeless, and longing for an interruption, or an end.

Pick one! Vote! Get happygood!

** Voting Over **

A 'speriment

I'm going to be hopeful here. I need other people's help to make my idea work. I'm going to hopefully assume that everyone who stumbles here will come with me on a journey through time and space. I've got a few ideas of what I'd like to write, but I don't want to write something that will be boring to you, my lovely and hopeful readers. So you're going to be my filter

Here's the deal. I'm going to attempt to have 3 posts per week. Here's the schedule.

Monday- I'll post at least 3 random lines. These lines will represent a theme, and you get to pick which one you like most and vote for it. The line that gets the most votes will turn into an article and a poem or piece of short fiction.

Tuesday- This day is used for voting. I'll not do anything this day. I reserve the right to a lazy Tuesday. This day is for voting, so vote your asses off this day plz? kthxbai

Wednesday- I'll tally the votes and get to writing, don't look for updates Wednesday, and if you're going to vote Wednesday, do it before I wake up plz.

Thursday- Thursday's I'll post a classic style blog, some overzealous ranting blurb about the subject that you picked from Monday's post. You'll feel all crazy kinds of special for knowing that I'm writing about the subject you voted for, or were outvoted by. Don't get sad when you get outvoted, you voted for the wrong thing anyways.

Friday/Saturday- Someone of these two days I'll post either a poem or piece of short fiction related to the week's theme.

That's how I want it to work, if either you or I lose interest, this thing will die fast. So, you know, unless you like death and stuff, stay interested. I promise to stay interested as long as I want to, or as long as you want me to.

There's nothing on Sunday, so I have two lazy days. God only took 1 day off out of 7... but I'm not as cool as he is.

I plan to be blasphemous, and terrible. Also, I'll be funny once. My grammar will not be top notch, and I'll use internet slang. You've been warned, so any complaints about me  being offensive, improper, or stupid will be get bad lazy.

Here's to being optimistic!

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Current week's blog Here
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