I'm Probably Not What You're Looking For

Its not really an issue of self confidence, you sound like a lovely person, its just that I'm probably not what you're looking for. Its not really a bad thing though; personally I'd just like to talk to someone that isn't one of the same 10 people I seem to talk to on a daily basis; its not that they're bad people, I just know they're not listening because they know me well enough to not. I assume you'll listen given that A. I'm not actually talking B. I may never know how much of this you'll actually read C. You don't know anything about me and D. You're ad makes you seem like someone who might listen, which is how I'd like to imagine you.

Maybe I should tell you a bit about myself:
I'm 19 and a string of paradoxes.
I have a constant 1st person narration going on in my head, which I've interpreted as proof I should become a writer; honestly I don't think the two have much correlation.
In my most visceral memory of childhood I remember grabbing at the diamond drooping off my mother's neck while she cuts some yellow flowers that smell like steamed broccoli. I think I may have made this image up, but it seems real enough.
People think I'm sad because I don't smile often. The truth is that I smile a lot, and am secretly one of the happiest, most fortunate people on the planet...but only in secret.
I don't drink. I'm not afraid of it or against it or emotionally disturbed by it, I just really can't stand the taste no matter how many times I try it.
I've read an embarrassing number of books that didn't make me any smarter, but they make me seem smarter.
I'd like to think I'm a man, but I'm probably closer to a boy.
I don't know.

Anyway, thank you for listening! I'm glad to have gotten the chance to talk!

-David

P.S. By the way, don't feel the need to respond to this at all; I unfairly took advantage of your listing for my own selfish purposes. I feel bad about this, but better about it than I do bad.

It Would Be Really Scary To Be Awake While I'm Dreaming

The generic looking parking outside of Big Ron's Yoga College. Late Early Afternoon, perhaps around 4; I would be willing to debate times up to around 4:07, but later than that is clearly preposterous. MILDRED is fidgeting from the sweat in her yoga pants. She is in her early twenties with prospects of become a traveling hippie. JOHN, a student about her age, enters stage left.

Mildred: Can you give me a ride?
John: Sorry?
Mildred: Sorry you can't?
John: No, sorry I didn't hear what you said.
Mildred: I said "Can you give me a ride?"
John: Isn't that kinda weird?
Mildred: I can't see why it would be.
John: I mean I have no idea who you are.
Mildred: So....?
John: I dunno that's just awkward.
Mildred: Well now it is...
John: Oh...sorry bout that.
Mildred: You know how you can make it up to me? You can give me a ride.
John: I dunno if I feel too comfortable doing that.
Mildred: Why not?
John: I mean you're not supposed to let strange people into your car.
Mildred: Oh I see. That makes sense. I mean I've often been told I look like a rapist.
John: You know what I meant.
Mildred: Actually I don't.
John: I mean, I don't know a thing about you.
Mildred: So...
John: I don't know a thing about you!
Mildred: Ok...I'm Mildred. I live in a vegan co-op near campus with my two cats peanut butter and bananas who are both coincidentally named after their favorites foods, the combination of which happens to be my favorite food. I've been living in "the Ville" for my entire life. My parents are both still happily married and happy that their baby has decided to stick around, unlike my siblings who rarely come home. Sabrina, my sister, lives in New York with her husband Ron who despises small towns and the middle class. My brother Rodney was in clown college before he dropped to join the C.I.A. and was relocated to a classified area for months now. We think hes lying. Lets see...I teach yoga for a living and generally get around on my bike, but unfortunately the tires got slashed while I was in class, so... here we are. Now can you give me a ride?
John: Ummm....
Mildred: Yes or no
John: I mean...
Mildred: You know what never mind.
John: What?
Mildred: I don't feel particularly comfortable getting into a car with you.
John: What?
Mildred: I mean I don't know a thing about you.
John: You know this isn't Looney Toons, I'm not gonna fall for something like that.
Mildred: Fall for what? Statistically speaking I'm more likely to get raped and murdered by you.
John: Seriously?
Mildred: I mean you don't seem the type, but then again they never do.
John: You can't be serious.
Mildred: I saw you checking out my ass when you were walking by earlier. I bet my buns look nice and firm in these yoga pants, I bet you'd like you get your hands on them.
John: ...you asked me for a ride.
Mildred: Maybe that's your game. Maybe while I was teaching Yoga you slashed my bike tires and then happened to be walking by knowing that I would need a ride.
John: ...but I said no. I mean doesn't that show I didn't want to give yo-
Mildred: Of course you'd do that! It establishes trust! You wanted me to think that you didn't want to give me a ride, so that when you finally did I would feel comfortable around you because initially you said no which means it was all my idea. You didn't want me questioning you later when you suggest we stop for a sandwich and then insist on picking up the check and buying me coffee; coffee that you laced with roofies!
John: What?
Mildred: And then you'd take my supple, flexible, yoga-toned body back to your trailer in the middle of Paynes Prairie and have your way with me. You'd push and pull me in every which way manipulating my body to your will. You get off on power don't you? You get off on feeling in control? Lemme guess: your mama didn't give you enough cookies when you were younger? I bet you keep a picture of her by your bed so you can remember what she looks like while you do your awful, inhuman things.
John: What?!
Mildred: And then you'd bound me up in leather straps just waiting for me to regain consciousness, so that I could watch as you slowly take me apart with your assortment of knives. You monster! You Beast! You-
John: YOU ASKED ME FOR A RIDE!
(MILDRED grabs JOHN by the waist and kisses him deeply on the mouth. JOHN, dumbstruck, cannot fathom what to do. After she breaks the kiss there is a moment of silence where JOHN looks baffled; MILDRED has a huge smile across her face)
Mildred: Now how about that ride?
John: Um...Sure...Whatever
Mildred: Great! Just let me grab my things.
(MILDRED grabs her purse and yoga mat, which were left by the spot she standing in at the opening of the scene)
Mildred: You know what'd be great right now? A sandwich. You wanna get sandwiches? I know this great little vegan place on 13th.
John: Um...Sure...Whatever.
Mildred: Great I'm starved.
(They begin to walk off stage. JOHN is still dumbfounded, but the initial shock has worn off)
John: Hey wait- what about your bike?
Mildred: What?
John: Don't you wanna take it home so that you can get it repaired?
Mildred: What?
John: Your bike...you know with the slashed tires...
(MILDRED thinks for a second and then bursts out laughing)
John: What?
Mildred: (still laughing) I haven't ridden a bike since I was 7.
(MILDRED grabs JOHN by the waist leading him off stage through a gradual blackout. She continues boisterously laughing the whole way off)

The Right Lane

Out of the sky Lane was hit by an anvil of happiness.

Perfectly poofed with the velour gloss of a 50's air hostess, Lane Nelson's hair dances beneath a crescent moon tiara sparkling with spot light. She could feel their eyes, all the boys, even most of the girls, gawking at her: her jaunty, vivacious breasts surreptitiously jutting from the silky shackles smoothly resting upon her confident shoulders. The air was dense with breath.

"Thank y'all for showing such lovely support for little me. Only a few girls get the honor of being the Sigma Chi Derby Queen and it makes this little native born Gainesville girl so proud to know that even she can go on to do great things"

Bobby comes to the stage and gives her an unprovocative kiss before asking her to sit down while he gives his speech. Lane comports herself with the grace of a tree in the calm wind: straight, upright swaying slightly one way or the other. She takes her chair at the back of the stage and revels in the attention she continues to get through the shadows.

A skinny girl leans against the left-most wall. Collared white blouse tucked into a cream knee length skirt, she looks like a cigarette with sad, brown hair. Lane watches her as she watches Lane. The girl rests her hands modestly towards the center of her pelvis, her stare becoming even more penetrating. It begins to wrap around Lane like a blanket. Sliding up from her toes to her chest Lane falls into a warm pool of silence, sinking deeper towards the shadowy bottom. Their gaze is locked. Lane doesn't look away as the girl goes beyond the silk, beyond the elastic, beyond the pads, tickling her with a feathery solemnity.

Bobby sits down. Cuffing his hand over Lane's ear he whispers "Hell of a time ain't it Laney?"

Lane stares at the floor for a minute before responding with a big, blinding smile.

A Writing Schedule Chapter 1 Week 1 (For the week starting 9/27)

Monday
Start a piece of fiction writing and spend a minimum of a half hour on it
At least a half hour of non school related fiction reading
At least a half hour of non school related non fiction reading
A blog post

Tuesday
Spend a minimum of a half hour on the same piece of writing
At least a half hour of non school related fiction reading
At least a half hour of focused passage copying from the fiction reading
A blog post

Wednesday
Spend a minimum of a half hour on the same piece of writing
At least a half hour of non school related non fiction reading
Character charts and plot analysis of the piece of writing so far
A blog post

Thursday
Spend a minimum of a half hour on the same piece of writing
At least a half hour of non school related fiction reading
Begin stylistic study of fiction author, spend at least a half hour taking notes on the composition of what they write
A blog post

Friday
Spend a minimum of an hour on the same piece of writing
At least an hour of non school related non fiction reading
Begin synthesis of the nonfiction ideas and figuring out how to apply them within the week's fiction project
A blog post

Saturday
Spend a minimum of an hour and a half on the same piece of writing
Finish the non school related fiction piece
Dialogue studies in relationship to character charts
Stealing the week's fiction author's voice and injecting it into the writing
A blog post

Sunday
Spend a minimum of an hour and a half on the same piece of writing
Finish the non school related nonfiction piece
Attempt to bring the piece of fiction to a workable draft
Research the publishing world for at least a half hour
A blog post

Gregor the Dragon of Piece

Dragons and humans are set apart by one measly chromosome.

"Nonsensical!", says Dr. Thorton Huddle genetics professor at the University of Florida as well as the Longbridge Gentleman's School for Boys, "Its just preposterous to even believe this claim. Look at the beasts: reptiles with cloaca, and the ability to breath fire. Aside from the glaring physical discontinuites with the theory, their general temperament belies both behavioral and ecological diversities that separate the two species on fundamental levels".

And while many scientists still hold this view, many other have been exploiting it to find out more in the field.

There is currently a project in beta phase testing to make fire breathing humans, but results look spotty at best.

A 7 O'clock Drive Through Tomorrow

The signs! The signs! The meanings of the signs!

"The fucking kids these days"

We are a point suspended in the air.

"So you've finally gotten that old"

is backed up down 34th and across Archer. Things aren't looking too great as the accidents continue to pile up o

352 846 7253 1st floor of the library...all are welcum

"There's nothing left, nothing sacred! There's no more walls to tear down; they refuse to build them! These kids, these punk kids, all they do is take, take, take"

There are cars, so many cars. We begin a slow forward zoom.

"You know we were pretty much the same- or at least I was, you old badger. Selfishness is just a defense mechanism against alienation"

the slasher? *woman screams* who's slashing prices!!!

MUst loose my virginity b4 2012!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"We've devoted our lives to getting them in and out of the box, but where are the boxes for their children"

As if looking into a microscope, that which was once a mass becomes several smaller entities floating around in a transparent muck. A red Mitsubishi sedan comes into focus. With a click of the wheel we multiply the power of the lenses.

"Your cynicality can only get you so far in life- why don't you try an exercise in empathy? Remember breaking into that citrus farm? You know, on the way to Tennessee?"

en,sen, sensuous. You've got the power to b

Vote JamVOTE THOMSON CHARLESIG KAI!

"nothing, nothing, nothing in return"

We continue to zoom beyond the superficial through the powers of magnification. Amoeba, blood cells, parasites; bunched together though separately unaware.

"The way you touched me sent a shiver down my throat"

st assured the president is not a lady in disgu

H.I. + E.V.

"take, take, take"

Further and further down we zoom. A warm glow begins to form in our stomach acid; there must certainly be something beautiful at the end.

"Your hands across my breasts, my ass black with dirt"

lalalalalalalalala

WILL YOU MARRY ME? No!

"I suppose I'll never understand these ungrateful leviathans. The world will end with them, mark my words"

Down and Down. Deeper and Deeper. The light intensifies; some of us throw up rainbows.

"We were beautiful; beautiful in the way all young people are"

backed up alllll afternoon. Now here's sports with today's play by play

!1th ave.

Camera Obsucra fills the silence.

I don't really have any profound thoughts.

Its hard to think anything with the knowledge that I will inevitably have to chronicle one of those thoughts somewhere.

Paul has a cough. He is snotty. I don't want to have a cough or be snotty.

Earlier today I was texting Emery between states of consciousness. I dreamed about texting her and typed her real messages from my dream.

My Early U.S. Novel professor recommended an anime series called Paranoia Agent of which I have watched 4 episodes. The irony of this whole ordeal hits at 2:11 A.M., but I'm still looking forward to episode 5.

I start each day with a routine of being grumpy.

Guy de Maupassant allegedly, which is to say he's douchey enough to have made this up, ate lunch everyday in the cafe in the Eiffel Tower. When asked why he replied that it was the only place in Paris you didn't have to look at the Eiffel Tower.

Teal scored 3 points higher than me on an essay we got back Tuesday; the essay doesn't even matter but I am still fixated on the 3 points.

I listened to a homeless person lecture on Jews. Apparently Jews are really aliens from outer space. The entire history of Jewish oppression has simply just been the natural world's response to foreign bodies; like white blood cells to a virus. Currently there are only a few pure Jews left in the world, but even they don't know of their ancestry. To find the facts one has to closely understand and study both Jewish culture and religion; even a very simple knowledge will help one figure out their true story. The Jews are, he says, essentially stranded on earth and G-d is the name of their mother ship. G-d has deployed The Messiah to come get them and bring them home to their peaceful society. He speculates, however, that if The Messiah ever does come it won't be able to take them back because their genealogy has become too human and therefore too dangerous.

College is a constant state of catching up.

I listen to Camera Obscura because all of their songs are about running away and taking long car rides towards oblivion. None of their lyrics really suggest this sentiment though.

Now silence fills the silence.

Paranoia Agent Episode 5 fills the silence.

Pillow Fighting With Derrida

In a present that does not yet exist, I am.

Suppose there is a pillow fight. Now suppose this pillow fight to be outside the context of a regular pillow fight, which is to say it is not contained by the simple ideals of the ordinary pillow fight: four prepubescent girls exploring the limited capacities of their respective sexualities. Let's say there are instead 800 college educated post-teens. Assume both of us are there. Consider our respective pillows: mine, synthetic fiber sheathed in a layer of golden silk; yours, all downy and white.

Now hear the starting bell.

Notice the assault. Sense their coming: from behind the columns, the potato shaped rock, down the stairs. Feel each attack mold to shape the body part it hits. Take away bits of each other as you hit and are hit. Now detect a slight wind moving toward your body. Flash forward to the ground, bleeding from your head. Before you nod off notice the spectral image of Derrida. He is in pastoral yellow pajamas with thin white stripes. In his right hand he has a pillow that depicts the top half of his head. Blood drips slowly off its forehead.

He will remember you now, but only when he dreams.

Of Being Homeless in Gainesville

There's a lovely tree tucked in a corner of the plaza with really good shade. Walking by it on my way towards Turlington I like to notice the homeless people that beat the afternoon onslaught of sunshine by sitting contemplatively in the leave's shadows. Today's vagabond was a scruffy eggshell with Japanese tattoos depicting some linguistic characters getting eaten by a PBS kids version of Mecha Godzilla.

"You wanna hear a funny joke?" He said noticing my stare.
"Sure" Said I, not in much of a rush.
"Knock Knock" He said.
"Who's there?" Said I
"Who" He Said.
"What?" Said I.

Then he laughed like an old tyme sailor.