I'm on Blogger now because I'm exhausted. One of the better tricks (for me) to memorizing lines is to put them into muscle memory, so I've been lurching and skipping and not-pelvic-thrusting all over my room, getting the lines into my body. And it's worked! I'm memorized... but more likely than not I will choke up performing it tomorrow, and I will look like a boob. A big, saggy boob.
[No Photo Available]
Since I know you're dying to know, I did NOT in fact end up eating any store brand cereal last night. I tried some today though. And maybe it's just because my stomach had grown teeth and was chewing on itself by the time I got home from Academy, but the cereal was dank. It tasted like Honey Bunches of Oats mixed with the flakes from Raisin Bran... plus almonds. Could've done without the almonds. There are a lot of places almonds can and should be: my cereal is not one of them.
"Spun" wouldn't load for me last night, so I had to adapt Meth-user behaviors merely from what I had read. The result was a disquieting but slightly cartoonish portrait of a tweaker. If I had had more time I would've done better, but based off what I was using the results were decent. Plus it's the past; now I've got to work on the future, right? Isn't that what they teach us in America? I found Spun on another entirelylegalmoviesource-- currently loading it-- so I'm going to watch it tonight just for shits and giggles. Movies about drug experiences fascinate me, because it's such a different and incomprehensible world for me... and one I'd prefer not to try for realsies, so good ol' Mr. Cinema is there to paint the picture for me.
What a Meth user might see at the movies.
Crap. I'm really disappointed in this picture I painted a couple weeks ago. I created it on a whim, and it bores me to tears. I had this sudden vision of a spiderweb, so I decided to use one of my canvases (equivalent to gold) and paint one. As soon as I finished the outline of my web I realized that I was a dolt for not painting the background first. D'oh! So then I had to improvise... I decided to fill in each section of the web with a different color, hoping to create something-- as you kids would say-- "trippy." Well, the result is less than trippy, my friends. A five year old (Sarah?) could've made this. A painting of this calibur would earn either a 3rd or 4th place ribbon-sticker at the
And so, the tortured artist sits and weeps silently at this horrendous excuse for a painting, searching frantically for redemption. The painting is not finished; no sir, not by a longshot. I refuse to sit here with this monstrosity propped up against my closet eying me with its ugliness. It needs something. I don't know what. But I feel like there's still hope. And someday this Summer will render me a good idea and a boring enough day to fix it.
God, that was melodramatic, wasn't it?
Dear 10:39pm,
Screw you. Yeah, I said it. Screw you for being so utterly uneventful that my body convinces itself that it is hungry. It is NOT hungry. And my brain knows it. I can't help it if my stomach only acts on gut instincts, and you should be ashamed for taking advantage of such a dumb, naive and pathetic creature. Yeah, that's right. Turn into 10:42pm. I don't give a shit. I know you, 10:39pm. I know your game. And F you because it's working!
Regards,
J-Mil
P.S. Shit, I want toast and Nutella.
No comments:
Post a Comment