Stream of futility

I don’t have the burn right now.  I don’t feel the words in my mind like a logjam.  Contemplating that metaphor, but I don’t think I want to type it out.  When it’s there, fingers on the keys, the mind opens and I detach.  When I was a kid I loved to play with water.  In a ditch, in the yard, just the idea of running water, redirecting its path, damming it with a bit of mud, dropping stones into it to change the flow.  

This will be a learning experience, writing without the burn.  Words don’t come easily right now.  I have to dig for them.  It’s painful almost.  I don’t like this.  They come in snippets throughout the day.  Watching a documentary on Lewis Black, I had some ideas.  Or maybe a singular idea.  Then the blank white page stares out at me………..and nothing.  Watching Eddie Izzard showcase his genius, I had some ideas.  Then the blank white page stares out at me………and nothing.  If I ask why, the mind spirals into hypotheticals which can last hours.  Then I come back, and there it is.  The blank white page.  I started reading David Foster Wallace.  Feelings of Ineptitude.  If I ever wrote a book, that might be a subtitle.  A Million Reasons Not To.  But then I find alternate titles pretentious.  Or do I think other people find them pretentious?  Because I like them.  I don’t do well with decisions.  Adam’s book, with 11 billion alternate titles.

The Difference

or, A poor white southerners guide to mental clarity

or, I hate everyone

or, A poor white southerners guide away from mental clarity

or, Dane Cook, Hack

or, Sarcastic Snivelings of a Serendipitous Sociopath

Alliteration is a cheap ploy to a point.  It only becomes effective with perseverance (see V’s speech in “V For Vendetta”).  This sucks.  Now I’m referring movies.  My cat could come up with this. 

Interesting thought: trickle-down sugar-daddy economics.  Explored this notion with a friend.  Sugar daddy>cougar>Adam>college girl.  Sugarnomics?  The Sugar-as-honey movement (Bam! Physics joke.)?  I’m sure Reagan would be thrilled with the notion.  Too bad it wouldn’t help the college girl until 2025.  We’ll all be dead by then anyway.  Well you will.  I’ll be the last man on earth.  Fantasy of mine.  Fantasy in the real sense of the word.  Not “I wonder what it would be like?” but “If there was even a minute chance of bringing this to fruition I would blah blah blah…”

What do unicorns taste like?  Chicken?  Too easy.  Horse/narwhal maybe?  With a hint of pixie dust.  Which is lethal in large doses.  And to squirrels. 

^ This is what happens in my mind when “fantasy” is mentioned.  Except unicorns are real.  Hitler murdered one.  Bastard.

My cat thinks she’s a superhero.

I’m a selfish prick.  My favorite band is my favorite band, not your favorite band.  I liked them before you did so piss off.  I won’t even mention them here because I don’t want you buying their albums.  Which no one else on this planet still does.  Except me.  Because I love them.  Look at Kings of Leon.  They still make great music, but I sympathize with their early fans.  Can you sympathize with someone who doesn’t know they are being sympathized with?  McDonald’s executives need to be drawn and quartered for bastardizing sweet tea.  I don’t want San Franciscans sitting around going “Yah I think I might hop a trolley over to Mickey D’s and snag one of those hip new sweet teas they serve” (you pompous fuck. Who refers to their town as “The City”?  Smoke a J on the quad and eat another goddamn vegan wrap.  Ass.  I hope you choke on it while you’re riding the goddamn Powell-Hyde and a herpetic bum unsuccessfully administers mouth-to-mouth).  Sweet tea is a Southern peculiarity and I want it that way.  Like fife and drum music or good college football teams (booyah).  Even half of Texas doesn’t serve sweet tea.  Because Tejas belongs to Mehico.  When are we going to get involved in that debacle?  Predictions are around 5000 murders this year for Ciudad Juarez alone.  Christ Almighty.  Even if he wasn’t.  Cool dude, cool ideas, not divinity on earth.  

Hey look!  An entry.  Ta-da.