I Have Some Apologies To Make
To the viewers at home.
I'm sorry it's been so long since my last update. My only access to the computer is at work, and I don't have nearly the time it takes to update. This update here is from a text document I'm saving to my computer. I'll add what I can, when I can, and hopefully I'll get to post it soon.
To my entire friends list.
I've been a total dick as far as keeping up with you. I've done my best to respond to comments, but- when I finally get the chance- I'll have to dig through all of your old journals to catch up.
To the Inland Empire crew.
Damnit! I wanted to go to Dave and Busters SO bad ! Unfortunately, I work nights by myself most of the week, and the girl who also works night has her family visiting this weekend, and so she can't cover for me.
Soon, I hope to see you all again.
To my family
Sorry I haven't called or emailed you in a long, long, long time. I'm still alive, in case you're wondering. Not that this helps, since you'll never get to read it.
To Menace Mancase
I'm sorry for breaking your brain. I didn't realize I was so dangerous!
To my brain
I'm sorry for breaking you. I know we haven't always gotten along very well. Hell, most of the time, we aren't even speaking. But depriving you of sleep and food, combined with my recent apathy in the area of learning, seems to have caused significant damage. Oops. Sorry brain.
Never mind. Fuck you brain.
To me
Sorry Steve. I really should have been a little more on the ball as far as getting ahold of Prom tickets. But now the list of people searching for one is growing huge, and you're one of the least poplular people on it. So, the time has come to return your plane ticket. Better luck next time buddy. Oh, and I suppose I should apologize for making you homeless. That was pretty fucked up, wasn't it. But you've got to admit, it is pretty damn funny. I knew you'd understand.
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News
I never sleep. I never play. I always work. Do you want me to write about work? That would just be mean. So, I'll spare you from the news section this time.
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Friends
Squee is gone now.
That just plane sucks.
buttonbutton is my hero. I've been passing out on her couch for the past two weeks, and let me tell you, that thing is far more comfortable than the backseat of my truck! Drop by and say something nice to her!
SarcasticMenace SarcasticMancase cracks me up! 10 1/2 friggin' hours! I make link!
Kerberos is todays Friend of the Day. He's been on my list for quite a while, and is just generally an awesome guy. I'm glad to see that he's got more time/access for SG. Plus, I have plans to rip off his spooky story idea sometime in the future.
So drop by and say hi to him too!
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03/29/05
NEWS
-I just finished American Gods by Neil Gaiman today. I read 350 pages in 4 hours. I had zombie eyes for an hour after. You know, when you've been reading for so long that when you look around, everything is blurry. All I could see was the crap in my brain. I was wondering what all of those shapes and forms in front of me were, and why they weren't words.
-I love Neil Gaiman, but he really needs to stop stealing my ideas before I have them. You may have noticed from past "fake days" of mine that I have a curiosity about the gods of the past. I've always wanted to write a story about what happens to gods when people stop believing in them. Neal beat me to it. Not to mention that Odin and Loki were the two main ones in the book. Out of all the gods I never worshipped, Loki is my favorite. As for gods that I have worshipped.... Well, I haven't found one of those yet.
-I'm sick. What the fuck? I never get sick. I can count the times I've been ill on one hand, without using all my fingers, or even my thumb. Now I have a head cold. It's awfull. Aparently, somebody put a brick in my skull. I don't know how they fit it in there, but my sinuses are straining to contain it. Every beverage I've ever drank seems to have been being stored in my naso-pharynx. Now they're all trying to pour back out again. I've been walking around with tissue stuffed up each nostril, to prevent the clear, watery liquid from drenching my face. Every time I talk to anyone, all I can think is, "I have tissue stuffed up my nose. It's uncomfortable. I hope you don't see it". I haven't had any comments yet. How do you people deal with this being sick nonsense? I'm never getting sick again. Fuck that. It sucks. I don't understand why anybody would do it in the first place. Now that I've dabbled in illness, I'm swearing off it for good.
THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD
From Steve's perspective
I've been doing a lot of traveling lately. Nothing fancy- just long rides from work to Studio City. When youre vehicle's dead, and you're forced into the world of public transit, you have a lot of time to think. I've been spending my time reliving old memories.
Bus
McBean transfer station to Newhall Metrolink
Pennsylvania, Age 13: I drag the lawnchair across the cement floor. The metal screech is drowned out by the wind wipping at my face. I navigate my way around the various obstacles cluttering the garage, and set the chair in the entrance. I drop back, and relax. Sheets of rain pelt the driveway and the the outlying street. The wind carries flecks of water into the garage- many of which find my face and body. I reach for my tray, and set it in my lap. There's nothing quite like a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup on a stormy day. I gaze out of the garage at the thick, black clouds that have taken hold of the sky. There's a white flash, followed imediately by a deafening crack that tells me that the lightning is close. Finally, after waiting patiently for several minutes, the tornado touches down.
Train
Newhall Station to Burbank Station
Okinawa, Age 21: My shin is throbbing from were I removed a splinter of bone the day before. The swamp water is waste deep, and foul. After two days straight of rain, the water doesn't matter any more. You reach a point were it doesn't get colder. It doesn't get wetter. The jungle has swallowed the stars. With no light to magnify, Night Vision Goggles alone are useless. Even with an IR flashlight, all I see is the man ahead of me. So I follow him. It's the tiny battles that occupy the time. I thwart off mosquito attacks from all sides, but I'm quickly losing that war. My foot is locked in combat with the mud below the surface for ownership of my boot. My eyes strain to see the nothing before them. I've never felt such cold. I've never felt such pain. I've never felt so wet. I've never felt so alive.
Bus
Burbank to Universal City Station
Germany, Age 23: All of the houses have steep, peaked rooves. This fascinates me. The slope of the roof alone adds an extra story and a half. The ex-capenter in me fears for the safety of the men who build such rooves. I'm reminded of gingerbread houses. The chill in the air bites at my lungs. My breath from my mouth is smoke. I light a cigarette to add to the affect. I've walked several blocks in the cold, but the beer in my belly is burning like coal in a furnace. My face is on fire. I reach the next bar along the unfamiliar street. I have to finish the beer in my hand before I can enter. Thirty minutes. I'll give myself thirty minutes until it's on to the next one. I supress the urge to giggle like a child.
To Be Continued
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Nonsense
The seats on the bus were not designed for normal humans. A child would sit in one comfortably. There are no children on this bus. Every seat is taken, save for one. A can full of people forced to a level of intamacy that none are comfortable with. It's hot. The air is thick with the stench of travelers. Three rows back, along the passenger side, one man sits alone. The other passengers eye him jealously. They grit their teeth and curse a name they do not know. The man does not notice. He gazes out the window- his face blank. An expression that can only be described as apathy. He has the look of a man who surrendered long ago, but the oposition didn't seem to notice. Or they didn't care.
Our man has no heart. The dull, rhythmic thumping within his chest will attest to that fact that he is, indeed, still alive. At least in the scientific sense. But he has no heart. He can't even remember when he last did. He sits, watching the countryside reveal itself through his window, from behind the glass. Somewhere, deep inside of him, he longs to touch the landscape. It's been so long since he's felt for anything, that it confuses him. He reaches for the window. It bubbles and yields to his touch. The glass melts into a viscous magma, which coates his hand. It seeres his flesh as it encases it. He looks at his scarred apendage. The window has melted away now, and the scene he once beheld has been replaced my blackness. Not blackness, in it's place there is nothing. He glances around at the other windows, all of which still display blurred images of countryside, like so many paintings in motion. An elderly woman is staring at him, disgusted. He feels the cold spreading within him. The nothing from his window is syphoning off his color. His other hand drops to the seat beside him. It ignites the cushion. Embaraced, he looks back toward the elderly woman. Her attention has drifted elsewhere. The passengers have chosen to ignore him. He watches as the flame cracks and blisters his flesh. The skin crumples away in the heat. He feels only cold. He stares ahead, the same blank expression upon his face, as the fire consumes him, chilling him to his bones. To the marrow. To avoid creating a scene, he decided to leave his hands in his lap, where they can do no harm. He sits there, ablaze and silent.
A dark figure enters the bus, shrouded in a tattered cloak. Its face is the nothing from outside the mans window. The man wonders for a moment, how the figure entered, as the bus never stopped. The wraith stands by the driver, facing the back. The eyeless nothing of its face stares at the lone man in the third row. The man smiles.
It's just a small train station, and the driver is gratefull that only one new passenger has entered the bus. She looks back at the cluster of disgrunteled faces, and wrinkles her nose against the smell. It smells like body odor, and urine, and sulfur and burning flesh. She hates buses. She hates that bus smell. Every seat is full, save for two. She gladly takes the row to herself. Three rows back, along the passenger side, window seat. The other passengers eye her jealously. They grit their teeth and curse a name they do not know.
03/31/05
I'm soooo bored right now! Quick, somebody do something!
Also, I might maybe possibly be getting a ticket to Prom! Holy shit! I'm popular!
Hey, quit snickering.
