I had my heart ripped into confetti tonight. But I guess we’ve all been there.
the only things i can write about anymore are teeth and cigarettes. god help me, and the people who have to read it.
just went to see django unchained. it was okay until someone dressed in all black walked in and stood at the entrance right as a big gun sequence was happening and just stared at everyone then kept nervously walking in and out my heart has never beat faster and my brother was literally just staring this guy down and making exact eye contact with him and every time the guy would move simon put his arm in front of me the same way that mothers put their arms in front of their children when they hit the brake in their cars too fast i think i have ptsd now or something i was literally crying after the movie ended i smoked 2 cigarettes in about 3 minutes then my brother had to go and talk to the manager because i was so upset and he responded as if this was a normal thing and we got our money back but i’m just kind of pissed that i will never know how cristoph waltz died my brother and i went to a bar afterwards and we just sat there and stared at each other drinking straight gin and it probably looked like we were fighting it was really awkward. i’m drained.
omg boys are so stressful.
so i just passed up reblogging a lot of amazing things on here cause i was distracted by how i have to start paying my student loans in two weeks so i decided to look at my bank account…and… it’s funny really. so funny that i’m going to go spend it all at a bar right now.
hello. i live in an old opera house in bellevue, ky. i want to buy this building and live here with my mother and brother and anyone else who wants to live here, as long as they are doing something constructive with their lives. constructive is relative, by the way. my mother can cook for us, and cut our hair. i also want to buy a mansion on a farm in the north side of lexington, ky, where we can all live, sometimes, if we want to. this is a short to long term goal i have for myself.
there is a very distinct choppy, righteous voice to the majority of contemporary amateur short story writing. it’s like the writer wants the reader to be shocked by their not at all completed/complicated thoughts on culture and self examination. it is neither thorough nor complex and even the longest of short stories seems like a cut of something too broad to tackle. maybe that’s it… no thesis, no capitalization, no transition. good story telling definitely can start in the middle of conflict, but with these stories i am reading, it seems like the catalyst of the conflict is unfounded and unearned and the incidents average at best. i don’t know, i think i’m kinda high on homeopathic cough suppressant, is that possible?