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(no subject)
Feb. 27th, 2007 07:39 amEDIT: The prozac capsule should be saying 60, not 150.
b
(no subject)
Jun. 14th, 2006 07:44 amI either get the seriousness of it across, which brings everybody down and prompts unwanted pity, or I tell it vaguely jokingly, and fail to quantify the abject horribleness of it all.
You see what you think.
------------------
As always, questions are not just welcome, but encouraged.
benjamin
Who's actually doing quite well now, thanks for asking...
Unrelated.
Feb. 9th, 2006 03:57 pmI had the worst manic episode I've had in about a year, coupled with horrible OCD. It was a good thing Sara was over at her ex-bosses house, telling her what furniture and paint colors looked nice. I was shouting and crying and organizing everything and punching the marble countertops and scaring our cat and freaking out when I couldn't find Kula Shaker's K cd but eventually being okay with The Pixies' Doolittle and more screaming, and more organizing, and then falling asleep about three hours before I normally do.
Then I huddled in the corner of the kitchen when my lovely wife came home, and she made pizza and spoke politely and quietly to me and reassured me that I'm not crazy and that she loves me and that I have nothing to be sorry about.
Me am unluckiest Bizarro in world!
On an unrelated note, I've been having too much fun making icons lately, both for me and for friends.
I take requests.
Recent samples (w/o) explanations:
benjamin
(no subject)
Dec. 22nd, 2005 07:32 pmWill resume it shortly.
In the mean time, from cnn.com:
"Hubble finds new moons, rings around Uranus; Fifth graders rejoice at new life for old joke."
Okay, maybe half of that was me.
b
Before the Fiction Arrives
Oct. 25th, 2005 03:20 pm
You ever
cry on a city bus? People look at you with pity. NOBODY looks at anybody else
with pity on a BUS for heaven’s sake! So there I am, on the 2 South Red,
staring out the window at boxlike campus apartments, Rivkah’s Steady Beat in my hands, trying to wipe
the tears off my cheeks by shrugging my shoulder high enough that my corduroy jacket
reaches them.
I get off
the bus and smell a cigarette, which makes it worse. Two years now without a
smoke. I start running through a list of good things about myself, my life, my
friends, Sara, et cetera, knowing it won’t do any good—as The Nameless Dread
takes no prisoners—but I run through it anyway, hoping that the list will at
least distract me from this stupid fuckoff sadness that’s landed on me and sunk
its claws in. It doesn’t. The list is long and full and fabulous, but my brain
no longer cares.
Fuck. Fuck
Fuck. It’s like somebody just made me watch as they beat my grandmother to
death with my cat. It’s like somebody came up and took everything I ever owned
away from me, and said, “Don’t worry, they’re just THINGS. What will hurt worse
is when I tell you that everybody you ever loved has decided that they don’t
love you anymore, and maybe they were wrong about you the whole time.”
Nameless
Dread. Unfightable. Only sleep kills it, and sleep kills ME, it’s the fucking
enemy. Sleep is Dead While Alive to me, it’s time I could be spending reading,
or with friends, or watching a movie, or creating, or just staring at a tree.
Sleep wastes me away with every second.
Now, two
hours later, TND is finally withdrawing, leaving little droppings of story
ideas behind it, as though to say, “You HAVE to go through this, benjamin, but
if it makes you feel better, here are a few ideas. Sure, you have to SCRAPE my
SHIT off of them first, but there might be something worthwhile in there. Or
not…like I care.”
And then I’m
just left with that lingering bit of doubt, that unscratchable itch, which I
have to pound down into my soul and ignore and maybe it will fuck off long
enough for me to do my library work, or write something that isn’t me talking about how the
abstract depressions are the worst, and how apparently doubling my meds didn’t
help, and how I can never decide which neurological disorder I’d most like to
be rid of…
Ready for writing and whiskey sours at home
A Shift in Tone
Oct. 17th, 2005 06:17 pm 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.
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.
Oh, and remind me sometime to tell you about “In My Mind’s World, I Love All of You.”
(no subject)
Oct. 13th, 2005 12:14 pm![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
ronebofh is right.I've kinda turned my LJ into too much of a dumping ground for my writing. I've turned it into some sort of place where I exclusively shit out practice exercises and scrape the madness directly from my brain to the keyboard.
It's not that I don't enjoy writing these things, it's just that I'm getting too focused on them.
I haven't contributed anything from the two novels I'm working on, nor anything from any of my in-progress screenplays, nor any of my older stuff. My brain has been jammed full of crazyshit since I was a tiny child, but why should that be all that I turn out here on LJ?
Watch this space for something I wrote about 15 years ago for the annual Imitation Hemingway contest but never submitted. I will submit it this year.
Watch this space for a possible excerpt from some upcoming comic scripts. And maybe even a tantalizing hint about a piece of brilliance that
duosiceprincess and I have been riffing on for a month. Her Excellency's permission pending, of course.Watch this space for things that aren't about crazybugs eating space dogs.
I mean, sure, there will still be crazybugs eating space dogs, but not exclusively.
I'm not a goddamned one-trick pony, and I'm still going to be a published writer.
Off to Sedona, Arizona, to see Sara's father get married. Will have sporadic internet access, but I'll be back in a few days.
In the mean time, some old non-crazybugs-eating-space-dogs stories from over a year ago. Enjoy, if you would.
Hedorah
and
Clay Wings
b
Current Music: "Inside" - Dubstar
