Stiff

So, I pretty much just got told that my book sucks. I need a stiff drink, and possibly some sort of biological outlet, then I'm back to writing what I sincerely believe to be a good story. I'm thinking; fuck the mainstream publishing road, George Lucas didn't need Fox to make Star Wars the most awesome story ever told.

So here's my plan:
1) Get Drunk.
2) Wake up.
3) Sit in front of the computer.
4) Write.
5) Write.
.
.
.
9.9x10^99) Finish.

In related news: I hate the elderly.

Pain

Pain changes everything. The most loyal of dogs will bite its master. The reserved woman will scream in labour. The strongest man will weep and moan in agony. With enough pain everyone will change. No exceptions.

Torture a man for a week, and what may once have been a bright eyed, bushy tailed, young, go-getter, will come out ashen and hollow. Give a young girl cancer and watch her age decades in the months she has to live. Look for the haunted fear in his eyes, and the unwanted wisdom in hers. Pain can break something inside you, make something grow within you, or become a part of you.
You can study it, surround it, understand it, and with drugs control it. After hours, days, months or years, eventuallly all you can do is accept it, let it pass, and pass it by. And if it stays forever, as it just might, I hope you change for the better. I think I might.

Subconscious

Anger is usually an obvious emotion. Usually you know when you're angry, and you know who or what is pissing you off. But sometimes you start doing things that only angry people would do and you have no idea why you're doing them. You may snap and snarl, kick the cat or if you're me day-dream of repeatadly stabbing some stupid mother fucker in the face as you grin manically into your sandwhich.
Eventually you'll wake up one morning realise that all the cat really didn't deserve to be kicked, and that poor waiter didn't deserve to be called a retarded waste of oxygen. But being the exception to the rule, I wake to discover this morning, that stupid mother fucker does deserve to be repeatedly stabbed in the face, so I don't feel remotely embarrased about grinning at my sandwhich.

Irritation

*I'm still working on getting my new years stories all sorted in my brain and on the computer... too much beer*

I'm suffering from severe irritation at the moment. Everything is very annoying and this is probably because it's about 100% humidity at the moment. (its 9 pm, 30 degrees, and there's a bloody cloud of mist enveloping the entire area.) I'm so irritable I'm not even able to rant about something. I just get irritated with myself.

So, I'm stuck in a horrid circle of annoyance and can't focus. All I want to do right now is hack some sorry fucker to death for no reason at all. But because I'm supposed to be part of the last bastion of civility in Southern Africa, I need to maintain my cool so I'm allowed to bugger off back to kangarooland after my 6 weeks of living dangerously here in the Rambo-Nation.

Anyway, I think I need to cool off by reading some Dexter and listening to Tool.

Gah...

Okay, my mom's digital camera broke on NY while I was at Burn, (no idea how) but luckily I got pics and video onto the SD card, and now I'm just waiting for everyone else to give me their cammeras so I can make a propper post. This may take a while, so don't hold your breath.

For Nick: the super secret, made of pure awesome "project" is still in early draft, but I'm going to be here alone in the mornings for most of next weeks so I'll be working away at it, ready to send to you in parts.