Short Short Thinger II

Thursday, 31 October 2002

and it seemed that as soon as i closed my eyes they were open again. but the oth­er side: hel/​nirvana/​heaven/​purgatory/​hell what­ev­er you call it, was kind of bor­ing. just shades of dead folks walk­ing around look­ing ap­a­thet­ic. it sucked. i’d rather ex­pect­ed a par-tay.

so i went back.

and now i’m stuck, ghost­writ­ing in rather strange ways. i can pos­sess things now. for in­stance, since i have no cor­po­re­al ex­is­tence i had to pos­sess this com­put­er to write. its pret­ty fun flick­ing around elec­trons. i guess i’m a lawn­mow­er man. but its hard­er to con­cen­trate with noth­ing to keep my ether held to­geth­er but my will.

you don’t re­al­ly need ex­or­cism or any­thing like that to get rid of ghosts, just dis­tract them, then turn on a fan.

an­oth­er thing, i thought i was just on the oth­er side for a mo­ment or two, but when i came back i was al­ready old dry bones. you see, the eas­i­est spot to reap­pear is in your old body. i guess an affin­i­ty al­ways re­mains. but i’d long since rot­ted and all that was left in my os­suary were my bones and an an­ti­so­cial spi­der.

on­ce i got the hang of be­ing ethe­re­al it was pret­ty fun. i can go through walls, but not with ease. will­ing my­self through things takes a lot of en­er­gy, thats why when you see a ghost come out of a wall they are all pale. nor­mal­ly we look more along the lines of a col­ored over­head trans­paren­cy. i can move as fast as my thought across open spaces how­ev­er.

i thought i’d check out my fam­i­ly, just for old times sake. they were all dead too. so i be­came one of those an­ces­tral ghosts roam­ing and moan­ing the halls of the goth­ic castle. or not quite. ac­tu­al­ly i just chilled in the hous­es of my family’s de­scen­dents. every on­ce in awhile when i wasn’t pay­ing at­ten­tion they would bump in­to me and get a chill.

why didn’t they see me? that’s easy, peo­ple on­ly see ghosts when they know to look for them. its hard to catch one of us by sur­prise. af­ter all we are pure will. it still got bor­ing af­ter awhile. there is on­ly so much you can do as a spec­tre. i could have picked up the whole rat­tling chains and wail­ing thing but in­stead i de­cid­ed i’d go find some moun­tains and roam around the peaks and val­leys.

af­ter awhile i’m sure i’ll start to get the hang of it, my spir­it will melt in­to the land and you’ll be able to hear my chuck­le on crisp au­tumn evenings. it’ll prob­a­bly just sound like rustling leaves, but it’ll re­al­ly be me.

Short Short Thinger

Wednesday, 30 October 2002

it hurt them more than it hurt me, so of course i would put a brave face on it and lie to their eyes as i told them i was feel­ing health­ier and would see them in the morn­ing. they couldn’t un­der­stand that i want­ed to die.

i was worn out, dy­ing is a rough busi­ness and all i want­ed was some sleep. per­ma­nent­ly. they were be­ing strong and ly­ing to me with the same brave face, telling me i looked bet­ter and that they’d see me in the morn­ing. ap­par­ent­ly they thought i need­ed it.

i’m pret­ty sure they wouldn’t have been able to com­pre­hend that i was no longer suf­fer­ing. the pain had long ago leached all phys­i­cal sen­sa­tion from my body. i was al­ready in the oth­er world, just tied to the body. when we are dy­ing we are tru­ly ghosts.

any­way, i let them tell them­selves that they’d done their part and i watched them leave, pulling their doubt of my sur­vival through the night on with their coats. i didn’t quite know what i looked like any­more, but the blanch­ing faces of my fam­i­ly each time they came to vis­it let me know it nev­er got bet­ter. oh well, that hadn’t been my con­cern for quite some time.

i don’t wor­ry if they’ll be al­right on­ce i’m gone. its not that i don’t care, more like there is no point in wor­ry­ing be­cause i’m go­ing to die any­way.

still, on­ce they all left, it was much eas­ier. if i died in front of them i would have had to have put on a good show, death rat­tle and all. i didn’t want to dis­ap­point, be­sides every night they were ex­pect­ing that phone call. i didn’t no­ti­fy any­one of my in­ten­tions, the re­lease date was not pub­lic, just a pri­vate show­ing for my friend the bed pan. on­ly one box of­fice re­turn for me, six feet down. so i closed my eyes.

Report Card

Tuesday, 29 October 2002

a protes­tant work ethic, cou­pled with a catholic guilt com­plex re­sults in nev­erend­ing stress for me. i got back two midterms and a pa­per, a- on all three. good for me. how­ev­er, try­ing to get ap­proval to shoot and to co­or­di­nate 7 dif­fer­ent film shoots around everyone’s sched­ules and at the dif­fer­ent times in three weeks is al­most im­pos­si­ble. not to men­tion that i have a prospec­tus and an­no­tat­ed bib­li­og­ra­phy for one class, a quiz in an­oth­er and a re­port due in yet an­oth­er dur­ing this time. and in 5 years none of this will have mat­tered. in a 200, noth­ing i will have done will have mat­tered. how can i make a last­ing im­pact on the world? and why do i want to? is it fame or al­tru­ism?

Search Strings

Monday, 28 October 2002

a hand picked list of search strings that have re­sult­ed in a hit on my site (there could be fun­nier ones, but I on­ly see 50 and there are over 140 for this mon­th):

  • dirty toe­nails
  • drunk and shaved my head
  • girls that are crosseyed
  • goth room­mate from hell
  • how to pre­vent a dis­lo­cat­ed kneecap
  • red­head­ed vir­gin catholic goth
  • a writ­ten de­scrip­tion of the ap­pear­ance of a scary per­son
  • fund­ing cir­cus per­form­ers 2002 (my per­son­al fa­vorite)

Space Age Toothbrush

Sunday, 27 October 2002

of all the things to have space age de­sign, tooth­brush­es should be rather far down on the list, but in­stead of dri­ving a car that runs off the con­stant bom­bard­ment of neu­tri­nos from space, my tooth­brush can do it all. I just bought it a few days ago. apart from the now stan­dard er­gonom­ic body de­sign guar­an­teed to clean those hard to reach back teeth, my tooth­brush al­so comes equipped with a unique mi­cro­bristle de­sign which cleans teeth bet­ter. the end of each reg­u­lar bristle has been cut in­to many small­er bristlettes, hence the mi­cro­bristle. the split-ends of the don­tic world. it al­so has a flex­i­ble head to ad­just to the con­tours of my mouth and a longer bris­tled tip to get be­hind those pesky back teeth again. Even the han­dle has been de­signed to fit nice­ly in the hand, it has sev­er­al ridges on it which mas­sage my thumb and fore­fin­ger for the whole min­ute and a half that i brush my teeth. The biggest sell­ing point of the brush is its brand-spank­ing-new ‘whiten­ing strip’ that curves be­tween the bristles and ap­par­ent­ly will give me whiter teeth in a few short weeks. all it is: a piece of flim­sy rub­ber that acts like the au­to­mat­ed car wash cloths on your teeth, a kind of back and forth slap­ping mo­tion. Now, if they made an au­to­mat­ed ver­sion that al­so gave me the morn­ing news, then it’d be per­fect. Unfortunately, I can­na find a pic­ture of it for it ap­pears that the men­tadent web­site is ex­pe­ri­enc­ing tech­ni­cal dif­fi­cul­ties.

Shit Gets Crazy

Saturday, 26 October 2002

8 – 0!!!!! Beating our 4th ranked op­po­nent of the sea­son. Neal has un­suc­cess­ful­ly pre­dict­ed our loss for two straight weeks. Maybe now we’ll get some re­spect. i was sup­posed to get the sto­ry­boards and a pa­per typed over break, I com­plet­ed the sto­ry­boards, bare­ly, and didn’t do shite on the pa­per. Starting Monday shit gets crazy again un­til mid de­cem­ber.

7 – 0

Sunday, 20 October 2002

back, from re­menyik, could’ve done bet­ter, but did ok. ND is 7 – 0, next week­end vs. Florida State. i’m go­ing home mo­men­tar­i­ly, no up­dates till next sat­ur­day. i love you all.