a breakfast for losers...

From out of the book When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops? a holiday message from George Carlin:

"Since this book comes out in the fall, I'd like to take advantage of this early opportunity to wish all of you an enjoyable Christmas season and a happy New Year filled with good fortune. Of course, I realize this can't happen for everyone. Some of you are going to die next year, and others will be crippled and maimed in accidents, perhaps even completely paralyzed. Still others will be stricken with diseases that can't be cured, or will be horribly scarred in fires. And let's not forget the robberies and rapes--there'll be lots of them. Therefore, many of you will not get to enjoy the happy and fortunate New Year I'm wishing for you. So just try to do the best you can."

My night out was spectacular. My night out being me, myself, and empty streets. I danced in the middle of the road because there were little cars out tonight. My entire left leg got lost in the snow, and so I rolled around to get from place to place. I lit sparklers in the middle of the park/museum and swung off a swing to only dive into the snow in front of me. Oh, and the night sky was spotted and sparkling and my jacket was glittering. I was soaked from head to toe, and I felt stale as bread. I headed home but twirled around instead because I felt so warm in my frozen clothes. I sat on top of a wooden board high up from the ground until my thighs were numb. I was tempted to fall backwards, but realized my spine was better intact. I moved very awkwardly in the snow with my arms lifted from my sides, and at times my feet would swish from side to side as I danced to the music from out of my earphones. And great beams of light from the street lamps shot up into the snowy sky. It was wonderful. So wonderful that I had to finally head home because too much of a good thing can be wasted all alone.

I sat on a pull out couch last night. I was caught up in a dreaming image that caused my head to involuntarily move slowly to the right, and when I realized what was in front of me there was this slight glitch followed by a flash. I stammered, "My eyes are taking pictures" in the darkness.

I am extremely tired at the moment, and yet I cannot sleep until I can hear the entire sweet singing of a person, who may put you to sleep but is wonderful for those nights of stolen sleep.

And now all I want to do for the next two weeks is finish needed finishing, and revive whatever seems to be lost but probably hidden under a cushion or two.

finito.

I have noticed that this blog is useless, and I hope you have as well.

Looking for a creative outlet, but end up getting distracted and losing all thought about what was being . . . . . . . said.

the man has long legs. that stretch from Collingwood St. down to Durham St. They STRETCH. And, where is he going? Yes, well, you already know, because everyone is always going to the supermarket. What is with my obsession with the supermarket? I know you didn't ask, but . . . allow me to disenlighten you, which is NOT a WOORDD. OKAY. So the supermarket is . . . hold on. The supermarket is a place of food . and tricky aisles that make you want to buy even more food because they have conveniently placed the milk in the back aislllle . so , when all you need is milk you will haaaave to pass by the tin foil hats and articchokess , which obviously I do not KNOW How to spell. Gosh, this feels like deja-vu. that I have shivered. send help , but add the extra 'p' just Incase they speak spppppanish. trying to fine a creeative outlet with my head down looking at the keyboard canno tt tell if you are responding all i am hearing - the ticking tacking of thek eeys.

shall we scream waving our hands as we reach the top of the rollercoaster and plunge to our timely death because the sign had informed us before the plunge that we were going to permanently splat ourselves on the woorrlds esteeemmed panel.

oh how i will not, should not , could not but previously can possibly can post this and you will say WHY ? because. .............

I was tolllld. no i wore a tin foil hat for the sake of your presence because the tele , e , with a , accent , said i could be like the family inside that boxxx . the one with the rehearsed lines. oh HOW, it would be nice to live LIFE carefully planned out with thickening plots, gushing with blushinnng pigeons and amazing camera angles. not, angels, angle, a boy once spelled ANGEL - ANGLE. how embarrassing. ..

a lid was mentioned which reminded me of a man who bought a lid, just a lid, for his pot which was missing a lid. POTS WITHOUT LIDS ARE SALADS. it's a knowmn fact, and makes perrrfect sense unlike my terrible grammar and spelling errors because i must remind you i am typing with nose down perspective listening ot tickatkc tiaking of keeys .

I have to write a speech but iI am without a topic and I have oh but three (i will waste my sunday by not doing it) days to write this because my teacher enjoys putting due dates on thursday, which are terrible days because that is when I am sitting in corners pasting together stings of hams to hang in the window store where they sell fresh pies with babbiiesi inside. oh , annnnnnnnnnnd I will watch the world from my window, where it appears you are carrying 10 pounds of ego-tripping testosterone on your shouldrers, which could have been solved by a simple apologggggggy.

IIII. previously. attached myself tooooooooo. a man with giant red sideburns annnnnnnnd wide set eyes who thanked the waitress for his cheeseburgerrrr.

I almost had a nervous breakdown by the lockers where I am usually blocking the boys locker next to me. and, I almost choked on a gulp when I tried to tell you I really missed spending time with you and then we went out for cappuccinos and I was glad to sit in the corner with a friend again.
>.>>i could keep writing just incase you don't want to pay attention to the exact moment that seems to be sifting through the airrrrrr....buut I won't beccaauuuuuse I SHOULLLLLLLLLLLD start thinking again. kaboom.

My sweater smells like perspiration and saliva. and. OH! I watched the Adventures of Milo and Otis, which I haven't watched since I was nine years old, or something similar to being nine years old. GOSH! It was most invigorating watching it. GENIUS. Though while watching it I began to think, which I did not do at the age of nine or something like nine, the sort of abuse these animals went through. I'm sure they were well supervised. But. Ouch! Oh, Milo, do not step on the chickens.

There's a hole on the tip of my tongue, which often likes to fill up with green ooze, and in turn I proceed to sprinkle salt on top of it which stings and sizzles. And I'm really wishing someone were online to talk to, as someone left abruptly and spelled "goodnight" wrong, leaving me somewhat confused. As I sit here I could, I could, I could be writing a one act play which we have had for probably more than two weeks and I have yet to fully start it. And right now, I'm just typing and everything is all fast-paced as a result of watching Annie Hall and I feel mildly tired but I resist the urge to suspend myself in utter darkness which will soon become a fantastical of images and sorts involving a old man, once stagnant in reality but laughing chaotically in my dreams and moving swiftly on the sidewalks which for some reason frightens the hell out of me, and yes by JOVE! this is a run-on sentence.