Do you every get a wild hair just to write a paragraph of something? Lord knows I do, sometimes after an interesting dream, other times after along day. Here are some ones I found while digging through my old hard drive. The titles are whatever I named the file in the moment. It took all my will power, but I made no edits (other than some particularly egregious spelling ones). The first one is some kind of captain working against impending doom.
to_die.docx
The captain considered the far, with eyes that reflected only that of an optimist. Regardless of the situation she had always wanted to see the best. But this was different, the impure radiance was not that of a star but one of a flame. A destroyer in light. She had felt its terrible luminescence before, and understood what would soon follow. The cacophony of lights and clacksons began to chime as the computers would begin to collate, calculate, and attempt to recreate what had happened. However, she, with uncharacteristic assuredness, already knew and understood what had happened. The pain was beginning to settle, like noxious weeds in her stomach. Death seemed to be the only thing that was imminent for her and her crew. She would give the order to attempt to outrun the impending wave of doom that was hurtling towards her at breakneck speeds. A countdown was commenced, engines were primed, cargo was dumped, and goodbyes were said.
Here's a little poem I wrote when I was still an angsty virgin and getting a wee frustrated about it (lots of rural gays are late bloomers in that regard). A little incelly, I know, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
WHY DID I WRITE THIS.docx
Spring out furry of men
Spring out passion of my inner den
Spring and jump with jubilant furvert
For I know I can barely stand to go any further
With ever longing effort and against my own true will
I feel myself slumping down and down into an all too familiar drill
I know what I need
I know what I feel
But the distance is growing
And I can hear my mind slowing
As no one feels right
To end lonely plight
I am not picky of gender
I am most certainly a first offender
And at times I am so bored I want to put my own head in a blender
I am not lazy
I will meet you halfway
And hopefully one day we’ll be able to be rude to one another fully in the nude
If memory serves correct I wrote this after a quick road trip I took once upon a dead week in my undergrad when I need a little break. I used to love taking my rust bucket on drives just about anywhere in Klamath county
The decent.docx
The road winded precariously down the grade towards the bottom of the valley. Cliffs at my right stood tall and omnipotent as I descended through the geological periods marked by distinct striations in the few exposed rock faces. Sunshine poured over the landscape and seemed to smooth the features of grandeur off in the distance. The cadence of an old boxer type engine was keeping a steady beat as the car handled the corners like an aircraft carrier. Every twist would bring enough centripetal to send even the heaviest drifting off to the side as the car handled the corner. The guard posts that had once offered some mental protection had long disintegrated away and now even parts of the road were missing a whole lane. Long decade animal carcasses and the occasional rust bucket of a car pulled me back in every time my mind drifted to happier places. The sun was still rising and providing increased definition to the stunning landscape that lay beneath. At the top of every small incline would be a whole new aspect of the vista that had long been lost to human eyes. The trees swayed in the massive winds that blew up face of the range, bare and decrepit looking they seemed to warn of the strangeness of what was further down the road
I didn't have a drop of alcohol till I was 21 (again; late bloomer) I wrote this short story about begin hungover when I was 19. You tell me if I got it right.
A shitty morning.docx
The night before had consisted of nothing but wet cigarettes and dirty alcohol. The pounding in my head was oscillating at the speed of my heart, which seemed to idle just above stalling. Every ray of light hit my eye in just the right angle to cause amazing amounts of dull pain. The depth of the grime on my skin seemed to go marrow deep. My clothes were wrinkled moist and thread bear. They hung around my body as if to plead for me just to let them exit existence in my shitty world. I felt around the night stand at my right to see if I couldn’t find something I desperately needed. The hard wood top of the small piece of furniture seemed to rip the small amount of heat from my fingers as they lazily danced over the objects resting on top. I felt my wallet, thin, I grazed my glasses, merkey, and hit with force sufficient to send the thing I had been looking for, tumbling to the green shag carpeted floor below. It hit the ground with a deafening thud that signaled that the annoying plushness of the carpet had kept it intact. I remained face down in the pillow, drenching the stained brown cloth, that had once been white, with my drool that was thick and probably had enough alcohol to restore the pillow to its former glory. I laid there thinking that I should move, but even the thought of moving made my chest tighten and my decrepit hart accelerate from a slow droop to a quick lag. I felt stale and catatonic in the dent I had made in the mattress from a long night of asking for death. But the prospect from an alleviation from the hunchback that was ringing the bells in my head was worth any other discomfort. I shifted my body closer to the edge of the bed. Still face down I moved my hand over the mattress edge to the carpet. Moving my sad excuse of an appendage from side to side over the floor. My random circles seemed to be the closest thing this carpet had seen to a cleaning as the motion brought up sand, dirt, and other particles I did not want to think too in-depth about. After about four or five random swirling, I felt the edge of what I was looking for. I grabbed it with undue haste and began to lift the bottle up. However the second the glass began to move my hope of aid evaporated like any hope I had ever had in my life. The only fluid in the world that could make me feel any kind of less worse, I can only assume had been drained the night before into my overworked and depressing liver.
The light that seemed to be mounting an assault on the room from around the curtains was nowhere near the liquid gold I had been hoping for. Instead the sky broadcaster a dark white onto the ground with two day old snow on it. I walked over the carpet towards the bathroom that looked more like a tourcher dungeon used by the Taliban than a room I wanted to attempt to scrub the thick commingling of dry sweet and smoke. The designers of the walls had no idea the torture that men and women of the would would subject them too. It looked as if there would be more biodiversity in one square foot of this monolith of mold than in a square mile of the everglades. The little awkward warmth of the room was on account of the water heater that was making a cacophony unsettling noises in the corner. I began to peel the layers of cotton off of my skin leaving me naked and giving my the realization that despite the increased temperature of this room relative to the other, it was by no means a tropical paradise. I turned the spigot on the wall and attempted to figure out the confusing settings that this one set of levers could have. After spending a little too long attempting to find my desired settings water began to poor from the nozzle at top. The shower head had been long gone and the water angrily shot to the floor of the tub in a spot that was a live experiment in property of erosion of water. When the temperature approached something resembling comfortable I began to transition into the tub. The curtain that I pulled across the two foot tall wall of the tub had dried splotches on it that I can only pray was soap scum. But towards the bottom as there was a slight discoloration from red to yellow I decided that the floor would take at least one more soaking before it collapsed in, and ripped back the curtain.