Touch me. Touch me like you didn't touch me last night.

            In order to make sure that I win, I’ll be adapting my journal/listserv slightly. Yes, I’m still going to have my writing exercises and things I’ve simply shat onto the computer because they were in my head.
            However, I really want to work on throwing finished, polished stuff at you. As such, I will be doing so. This is because I’m going to be submitting more writing, I am going to be published, and I am going to win.

             I’m also going to be expanding upon my brain. Allow me to explain that a bit.

A lot of people tell me I act crazy. With every passing year it becomes summarily more and more difficult to convince people that, for all intents and purposes, I am not “acting.” No, I’m not going to be hurling handfuls of my own shit at people, nor do I think that crazybugs live in my head, but MY BRAIN IS NOT LIKE YOURS. I have decided that journaling my brain will be an interesting process, and should give some insight into why I act the way I do, but also help me understand it all a bit more.
            For those of you who have not been with me the whole time, here’s a “laundry list” of my brain: Tourette’s Syndrome, OCD, alternately-diagnosed Depression or Manic-Depression, ADHD. In addition to this, I seem to have symptoms of general crazy, which come and go with every passing day. You know, symptoms that made me stop reading about schizophrenia a long time ago…

For a somewhat vague intro course, read this: What it's like in my brain. HINT: Not "72 and Sunny...every day!

 Things to expect discussion about: why crossing the street with my back to a car turning the corner means I’m going to get shot in the back, every time; I must know how many pages this book has; what if I just think I think I’m hearing voices?; what my protective “Thinking Cap” (c.f. Golden Age Flash) looks like; school pictures that look like I have the plague; why Sara sometimes calls me Flick; yes, I need all three carry-ons, asshole; I heart Hypothetical Situations; and why Three is The Best Number Ever.

It’s hard for me to explain all of this without details. As such, I’ll be providing them. I will also be taking requests, i.e.: what the fuck is up with Tourette’s, anyway?; if you know the door is locked, why do you keep checking it?; can you tell me why you wrote a story about zombie sex?; Hypothetical Situations?; et cetera.

 Want to know? Ask. I have no sense of shame or embarrassment.

 In short: more substance, kids. More writing. Better writing. And “What the fuck is wrong with him?” Tell your friends about me, if you think they’ll enjoy me.  Tell them, “Crazy writer writes about being crazy. And writes stories, too.” A fan base can start anywhere, and a shamless plug is a shameless plug.

Now I’m off to eat Mexican food, drink boozahol, and then finish salvaging what I can from my desktop computer onto my New Laptop Which Still Doesn’t Have a Name.
Smooches, kids.

Oh, and remind me sometime to tell you about “In My Mind’s World, I Love All of You.”

 benjamin lee sTone

    The guy in the corner wouldn’t shut up, even when the speakers crackled with the old woman’s voice.
    “Sections seven through nine, light misting," the ancient smoker rasped into her microphone. “Sections ten through eleven, decontamination. Section twelve, reprocessing. Sections thirteen through—“
    “I am El Negro Invincible!” proclaimed Mr. Shouty, drowning out the announcement of today’s treatment program. A kindly Korean minister stood up on the other side of the room, his bare feet slapping lightly on the steel floor as he walked across and punched him square in his white-ass nose.
    The prostitute-turned-banker laughed, her chains rattling against the metal wall. As soon as the minister looked over at her, she stopped and went back to leaning against her restraints. She had another forty-five minutes until they would give her a stool to sit on for a few seconds.
    “…Sections twenty-four through twenty-nine, mojitos. Sections thirty and thirty-one, pins and needles. This concludes today’s announcements.” She hacked something terrible out of her lungs, the microphone cutting off mid-removal.
    Almost immediately, our speakers began to play the delicate sounds of whalesong.
    “Shit,” moaned the car salesman, “they’re going to dump fish on us again.”

###

benjamin
Music: "I Do Not Want This" - NIN
Last Book I Read a Page of: A SCANNER DARKLY, Phillip K. Dick
Last Movie: Moolade (2004, Senegal, Drama)
Next Movie: COLOUR OF THE TRUTH (200?, HK, Cop v Criminal)