Generate your own Evil Clown at scottsmind.
I am not a very warm and loving person. I sometimes wish knowing this was enough to jump-start the hearth and make me gregarious, extroverted, and charismatic. Instead, I look at this person who I am, and feel contentment with what I see. I am not unhappy with this me. I enjoy being alone with hours of solitude. I write, edit, and plan future stories — all for me. I also read to expand my knowledge about, largely, useless and trivial things (to those who are not planning to incorporate it into a plot at some time, if the occasion arises).
In more complicated times of simplicity our intelligentsia claimed we (on a flat earth) were infected with pox because of our sins.
I hate consumer-oriented gifts. I’m a bad gift receiver. If you never sent me another tangible item, I would not think less of you, I’d think more of you: I’d say—with confidence—you understand my reasons for not exchanging gifts and being less of a consumer. The best gift I ever got was a hand-made drawing.
I stared at the large window in the back wall as I entered. The view was amazing. Wood flooring and all-weather furniture lent the room an open-to-nature feel. I walked to the corner of the window and bent down. The frame met with the metal bulkhead cleanly; no visible depth. A window made of azlocrilic would need a two-inch thick frame.
"See?" My voice and legs raised me from the floor. We were now eye-level.
Shelby blinked. One dollar would have been fine. Perhaps he'd hoped to win one hundred dollars, tops. He could have gotten away with that, sure. But, as he sat fixed in his father's recliner, Lay's Potato Chip crumbs strewn from his skinny thighs to the corner of his limp lips, his right hand still clutching that shiny little card, he knew that he'd won much more than a C-note.
Yesterday. Twenty-one years ago.
Design the perfect breast using only foodstuffs:
Not only breach but breach cesarean, I refused to turn around and start the dive. I must have grown accustomed to living in those warm confines for nine and a half months and lost all intention of standing on my head until the doctors figured out what I’d already discovered: there was no way I was getting my big ass through that little opening. So, I waited for them to come in and get me. Oh Yea. Two weeks late and never did a headstand. I was, and still am, an obstinate fuck (and have never liked being upside down).
Unfortunately many people (parents are people first) do not accept things outside their radar. The same people who scorn television hatred—done to strangers by strangers—hurt their families and members of their communities with the exact same hatred. An Amish family cuts their children off like dead branches because they never returned after rumschpringe; a Jewish mother tears her clothing because a goy impregnated her daughter; parents excommunicate their son because his sexual orientation differs from theirs...in all cases, the reasons can be distilled down to: fear of the ‘unknown’ and the ‘different’ beyond the ring of firelight.
Me and You and Everyone We Know (2005) directed by Miranda July (Jesus' Son, 1999); starring John Hawkes and Miranda July: Snaprating=Cheaper, RE-ORDER theme. This jigsaw-puzzle of vignettes paints an odd-joyful portrait of two characters and everyone they know. Fans of Todd Solondz's Happiness and Wes Anderson's Royal Tennenbaums will like this film.
The Devil's Rejects (2005) directed by Rob Zombie (House of 1000 Corpses, 2003); starring William Forsythe and Sid Haig: Gory-film-Fan Snaprating=Cheaper, All Others Snaprating=WFC, PROBLEM theme. A very gory — yet humorous — sequel, which outshines the slasher-flick which spawned it. Fans of Natural Born Killers will be thrilled by this shock-film because of it's caliber of acting and script.
The Chumscrubber (2005) directed by Arie Posin (Over My Dead Body, 2002); starring Jamie Bell and Camilla Belle: Snaprating=WFD, CHARACTER theme (secondary Re-Order theme). Fans of the Keepers Donnie Darko and American Beauty may enjoy this staged, Robert-Altman-esque, saga of self-medicated Californians because of the superb acting and the nod to Un Chien Andalou (1929).
Broken Flowers (2005) directed by Jim Jarmusch (Coffee and Cigarettes, 2003); starring Bill Murray and Sharon Stone: Snaprating=Cheaper, CHARACTER theme. Wonderfully directed, in a High Fidelity-meets-About Schmidt-way, this film never underestimates it's audience's intelligence. Cannes got it right this year.
Up and Down (Horem Pádem) (2004) directed by Jan Hrebejk (Divided We Fall, 2000); starring Petr Forman and Emília Vásáryová: Snaprating=WFC, RE-ORDER theme. A second-string depiction of hatred and bigotry, like an uncohesive Crash set in Europe.
Eulogy (2004) directed by Michael Clancy (Emily's Last Date, 1996); starring Zooey Deschanel, Debra Winger, Hank Azaria and Ray Romano: Snaprating=WFD, RE-ORDER Theme (Character sub-theme). A Hilarious mix of Big Chill and Home for the Holidays.
Employee of the Month (2004) directed by Mitch Rouse (directorial debut); starring Matt Dillon and Steve Zahn: Snaprating=Cheaper, PROBLEM theme. The skillfully written script overshadows all, even the the heavy-handed direction and average editing, in this amalgamation of Bad Santa, Clerks, and "About Last Night...".
Look at Me (Comme une image) (2004) directed by Agnès Jaoui (The Taste of Others, 2000); starring Marilou Berry and Jean-Pierre Bacri: Snaprating=WFD, CHARACTER theme. Fans of Real Women Have Curves may enjoy this story of a misunderstood daughter and her shallow family surrounded by French stereotypes.
You are 'Gregg shorthand'. Originally designed to enable people to write faster, it is also very useful for writing things which one does not want other people to read, inasmuch as almost no one knows shorthand any more.
You know how important it is to do things efficiently and on time. It 's comforting to say, 'practice makes perfect'. You also value your privacy, and (unlike some) you do not pretend to be friends with just everyone; that would be ridiculous. When you do make friends, you take them seriously, and faithfully keep what they confide in you to yourself. Unfortunately, your work (which is very important, of course) sometimes keeps you away from social activities, and you are often lonely. Your problem: Gregg shorthand has been obsolete for a long time.
What obsolete skill are you?
"...expression becomes about the writing and not the message," is deluded pouting. Writing muddy sentences on your blog is one thing, but you accepted an invitation to write on my site, balked after your first submission was returned for a re-write, and quit.
Your blood knows no better.
Finding someone who brings bliss and contentment into your casa, and maybe future, makes me happy.
I’ve been practicing nostalgic recall.
The foolish think old needs to be hidden; negotiating with time by repeatedly celebrating their twenty-ninth birthday. Although I didn’t know you at 29, I’m glad to know you now and extremely pleased with the us of we — today, at the leading edge of your fourth decade. I could be happier only if our backyard was ocean beach or forested mountain…and maybe our horizon is blocking that abode from our view. Thank you for being the perfect paramour. My happiness has become blissful because of your influences and willingness to share your life with me for the last twenty-nine months.
I do not publicly correct the grammar of friends or family (unless I’m in a banter-provoking mood). Today’s breakfast companion said, "I had this bamboo plant growing in a wine craft." I didn’t correct her. The Yankee-menace said, "It’s a kind of ham that’s curated." No correction. But I open a newly-trawled blog to '...obligation to people dieing of thirst if your knowledgeable of where to find water...' and I take a minute to comment. Why? Because spoken words are immediately lost in the hubbub. Hypertext is the new granite.
Why—when I catapult over—do you categorically refuse to return my playful intentions? My cataclysmic vocalizations, pleading for active altercations, are always met by a minimal allocation of near-catatonic silence. I yell for your presence but you always skulk away. If you don’t understand the language of Siam, would it be such a catastrophe to try and teach me your Russian? Stop playing in the bathroom, alone, with that stupid ball; come out here and chase me! If your education doesn’t include how to play, then placate me...or my application to excommunicate you will be submitted in triplicate.
My window frame over the unnamed city street—antiqued and nicotine coated by dead relatives—is the same rough shade of raw as the unfinished edgy patches. Payne’s gray façades tower over book-page concrete almost obliterated by their creator. Random crowd impressions, adorned by slices of hardboiled egg-moons and cliché pentagons, become lost under bland window shades. Unbalanced staring at fire escapes, which hinge above crooked marquees; all signs direct, all arrows point one way.
Indoor-only Popcorn was let outdoors by a taker. Budroe P. Wilson died under a bush in my front yard. Scared of heights, Louie ran to a neighbor-roof. Samantha, caught by a dog, died in my backyard. Doc chose to live elsewhere after four days of snow. The unnamed Siamese caught leukemia. Spencer hated living in a trailer park and Lloyd was given away to an ex-step. Momma-cat was taken to a distant farm. Evil black was buried in a pasture. A car hit Missy. Moe was given to a neighbor to be outdoors. Cody got run over by a bus.
|Memories naught, strange visages kept|
Shadows caught, beneath foot swept
Images wrought, still carefully frozen
Criteria fraught, non-randomly prep'd
Headlong, hysterical, brief giddy delight
Dandelion diphtheria, foraged crabapple cure
Dirt-road rest area, porch-yard twilight
His boost her quench, slaked well water pure
Witness old fear, her balancing poise
Uncertain too near, she backs in alarm
Truck blazing steer with silent noise
Evening blight peer, bath light decants
Unwilling to face, unsettled turn
Autumn unfazes, petals unlearn
Chilling pout night’s ethereal warmth awakes
Pickle jar blight, perturbed contemplates
Gradual bleach to bone
Pert turns to stone
Lusty stares grown
For those who've not perused my sidebar for over a fortnight, I've added some interesting links covering a wide range of sites: From a useless bit of time-wasting at Virtual Stapler; thru a wonderful re-dubbed clip from the Disney Film 'Dumbo' at Pink Elephants; to a superior compilation of film lists and reviews at Movie Review Query Engine (MRQE).
Those in need of a heaping quantity of international information the US counter-intelligence community's World Fact Book now has a link; and, on a smaller scale, if you want to read an ever-changing story (being created by many writers, which I edit) Quill Ting now has a microbutton.
digital rendering by veach st. glines, creative commons license 2005
The matured and improved writing of J.K. Rowling has caught up with the ages of her characters. Because this sixth novel in the series walks comfortably in the resoled transition-book traveling slippers worn by The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, Children of Dune and Heartfire (Alvin Maker Series #5), this penultimate edition to the saga avoids the template-driven 'year of good outsmarting evil,' followed by it's predecessors. If the seventh book will actually be the last, I expect everything we think we know—now—will be turned upside-down between our ears, before the end of the next book.
Available online at discounted hardback prices (for those needing their fix). Non-addicts get a taste of JK at your library and this one will be available there, by the time you get a jones for it.