I want to lick your eye.

Surreality is a lovely feeling that makes the most painful events pass by without warning.

I hate that I write all this when I should be reading. I'm leaking all that I know without taking anything back in. It's selfish and inefficient. I want it to feel good. Not me, it. I want contentment among discontentment, holes in our lives and a locked door. I don't want anything else.

My happiness is unfortunately proximity based. You smell good, even when you smell awful. Your smile makes me smile which makes you smile. I think I'm going to be sick, I hope you're near when I do. I hope it makes you sick as well. We can hold hands and be sick together. Penguin's smile.

I was on a boat

With a sail

The mast broke

Off

Fell into the water

With a splash

It soaked my clothes

Now I'm wet.

How to teleport

Instructions on how to read this from the perspective that was intended are to be found elsewhere.

Step 1: Find a place where you will not be observed by any sentient being, teleportation cannot not be achieved while being observed*.

Step 2: Set yourself on a segment of the material you wish to teleport to (Carpet is best for this as it is easy to obtain and easy to move).

Step 3: Blindfold yourself (ping pong ball halves work best as they let in very little light).

Step 4: Picture yourself in the area you wish to be transported to (This may take anything from one minute to fifteen depending on your spatial intelligence).

Step 5: Remove blindfold, if no one was observing your teleportation you should find yourself in a completely different place!

*This would create a space-time paradox as the act of teleportation by imagination is not physically possible.

Oh, um well...

Words forced out don't flow in very smoothly, but just because they don't flow in doesn't make them "worse". If I write something that I have to squeeze out of me like a newborn child, that doesn't mean it wasn't meant to be, that I'm not a true writer. I mean, a true writer is just a journalist anyway.

If I sit down and strap my hands to the desk for an hour and force myself to churn out one thousand words, it will look like drivel, it will seem uninspired. That doesn't change the fact that someone who takes the time to read it might gain something from it. The last few words will be beautiful anyway, because they will be inspired by the process, and stored inspiration will have had a chance to seep out.

I hope if you read this, you see things for what they are: a computer monitor, sitting on the back of a cat smiling at you suggestively. There is a soda nearby dripping with precipitation. Smile at it and maybe even wink.

I said don't!

Get off my blog!