Livinghigh: Nonsense
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Livinghigh was here at 10:02 AM /


Read a story. Tell a tale. Whisper words. Around a Fire.


Writer's block. Damn. No such thing. That's why I write. In bursts. And spurts. Something is better than nothing. I can lie. Call it a style. Call it mellifluous. People will never know. Unless I tell them. Unless they guess. But how would they do that? Not done. Not possible. Fuck it.

Jibes and jars. Sticks and stones. Nonsense again. Childhood rhymes that I remember. A girl who does actions. In caricatures. She's good at it, but I feel sad when she does them. Sometimes, they strike too deep. Sometimes I wonder why I can't do that. Smile, though, and laugh. Look at the comedy sequence. Where are the rotten tomatoes when you need them?


Quizfarm quizes that are supposed to look into your soul. Laugh. You should laugh now. That was a joke. You know the meaning? Joke? What's that? You don't know? Awful. I'm an expert at those. I know all about those. Ask me. Sometime. Maybe now. Maybe never. It's up to you. I can ramble on. For a long time. Or I can stop.



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