my attempt at trying to write or create something every day.

 

It’s Okay

I’m not a cool kid. I don’t want to be a cool kid. I’m not a not cool kid. The kids don’t want me around. I try to be positive. I try to be friendly, funny, attractive, interesting, smart. But something goes wrong. What goes wrong? I try not to be negative, nobody likes negativity. Am I failing at not being negative? Can they tell it’s a lie? The problem is in the way of it’s own solution. “Get over yourself”. I’m over myself, I’ve gotten out of the way of myself, I’ve said hello, and please & thank you, and sorry, and I’ve told you about my day, and listened about your day, and smiled, and laughed, and said relevant things, and made mistakes, and acted stupid for attention. And here I am all a- I can’t say the word, the word is too sad, don’t say sad things, people don’t like sad things, show them happy things, show them stupid things, people don’t want to think, show them pretty things, don’t show them anything you made, that’s selfish, that’s showing off. Don’t come up with your own ideas, they won’t like those, agree with all of their ideas instead. Don’t think like this, remain calm, remain positive, pretend to be happy, it will all fall apart if they know you aren’t okay. How is your day, how are you, how’s it going, what’s up, how’s life. Fine, good, nothing… you? Same, good, we’re both human, thank you, sorry, goodbye, nice seeing you, we should, yeah, yup. Don’t think about it too much, relax, it’s okay, be yourself, you hate yourself, don’t be yourself, don’t let them know you hate yourself, don’t hate yourself, don’t be hateful, be themselves, be self, don’t fuck up, you fucked up, it’s ruined, on to the next one, don’t fuck this up, you fucked it up, it’s ruined, don’t try again, give up, hate yourself, don’t tell anyone. Are you okay? Yeah, I’m just tired, I’m fine, it’s okay, I’m not allowed to tell you I’m not okay, I’m not allowed to tell you I’m wrong, I’m not wrong, it’s okay, I’m a good person, I can be a good person, I can be a good friend, I can sit here quietly, I can do my job, I can do it, I can’t do it, don’t do it, don’t give up, I have given up.

Stuff

So, still failing at writing something every day. Did a little bit of editing on my novel the last couple days, but I don’t really count those as a full day of writing. I decided to start using google docs links for my longer pieces of writing so my posts on here aren’t ridiculously long. So here are the links to the first two chapters.

Zero Upton Chapter 1

Zero Upton Chapter 2

I’ll repost these links if I do any major edits on them, along with links to new chapters, I’ll make sure and mark which ones are new.

Chapter 3 should be finished soon.

Failed

Totally failed the challenge these last few days. I’ve been busy trying to find a new place to move in to with some friends, but that’s not really a valid excuse. Got some really nice and helpful comments on the first chapter of Zero, did some editing and I’ll post a link to the lightly edited chapter 1 along with chapter 2 at some time tomorrow. I’ve been looking around trying to find a local writer’s group, but they all seem lame, too far away, or charge money. So I’m thinking the best option is to keep posting online to get helpful feedback. Still only have 5 followers on here, would be nice if I could figure out how to get more, but I guess writing blogs aren’t really too popular on tumblr. I’ll try and reblog and follow some relevant and similar blogs if I can find any, maybe that will help.

Zero Upton: chapter 1

I have a headache and don’t feel like writing tonight, but I’m going to anyways. I realized I haven’t worked on the book I was trying to write for a while, and that I probably should, so I’m going to do that tonight. But for continuity sake, I’ll post the first chapter. Feedback in the comments section would be great, thanks.


Chapter One: Making a Mess

"everything will be fine" she tells me in her cold rang-fangler voice "just lie down and close those slow eye lids of yours."

"they aren’t slow" I try to elucidate "they’re stifled"

"oh yeah?" she says with a smirk "what happens to be stifling your darlectablous eyes?" flacktackler, if she wasn’t from the old school of trolling for adoration

"why, what else but your ramtakulous face?" krackel-whore, if I wasn’t from the old school of trolling for tapulation

"ramtakulous?!" it sounds even more nillfangled coming from her. And that’s when I feel the sharp *PSCHFFFT* of the sedative shooter against my neck

and my eyelids

close

slowly

I wake up and remember little, I always remember little, she is still fast asleep in the red courde flayre chair. waking her up would probably kill her, which would probably be the best idea, the word “best” meaning most righteous towards my physical and mental well being, but my being was one of the moment and required fast-paced instant gratification, the word “gratification” meaning most righteous sex towards my schlock-tockler, as she likes to call it. what a schlock was, or how I was able to tockle it is beyond my understanding, but I trust her, because she makes the blood rush back and forth, which makes me smile and feel like I could be somewhere else. Waking her up and killing her would also kind of roipoister our twenty something something somewhere relationship that we’ve had for twenty something years. I open my pack that’s laying next to the flayre chair, being extra soupduperliouschly quiet, so as not to wake the fantasmajekyl woman of a companion I have. I’m using the sufix “jekyl” instead of “gical” for a specific reason which will be astoundowfishly clearer as our story progresses.

Layla Ford, being my companion, and Zero Upton, being my selfpanion, had both grown up in the Django Institute for Underestimated Power, under the brain power division, in the Little Django Brains Orphanarium. I don’t remember much from growing up there, just a lot of white and Layla’s sparkarklorious face. The Django Institute was owned by a man named [___] Django, who started the institute to discover untapped power in certain life forms.

Over the course of my childhood, most of the other divisions were shut down. apparently, plants can’t use electronics, and cats can’t learn morse code. However, a minute amount of anomalies occur during a child’s birth, specifically anomalies of the psychic nature. For example, when I was born, all the doctors and nurses who were in the room, as well as my mother and father, who were ofcorhorse in the room too, forgot the word “light”. Now, in any normal instance, this would probably go unnoticed, the word “light” isn’t a crucial word for a doctor or a nurse to use in an average day at work, and eventually they would hear the word and remember it. But the Django Institute has eyes and ears everywhere, eyes and ears that can hear and see everything, everything including this event. How you can hear or see a word being forgotten, I don’t know, but the institute did, and that’s how they found me and bought me from my parents for a flankliculous flank-ton of current currency. Now, my parents were not poor by any means, my dad worked at somewhere, and my mom worked at somewhere else, and they both got payed something, and they were both expecting to live somehowly something ever after with me as their beautiful perfect child. Which means, when I use the phrase “flankliculous flank-ton” that clearly means a flankliculous flank-ton.

So instead of me growing up as so-and-so’s beautiful perfect child, someone else did, someone else not so acutely cute in the headwich. Although, you should keep in your headwich, that all of this infofni isn’t home phoned. This is all what the institute has told me, so for all I know, I could be a clone, or an alien, or some other something from butt town, new butt town, on the united butts of butt huggers. I like butts. Butt Layla tells me I shouldn’t grain taim over hamhum like that, that its way easier just to accept what they tell me, and get on with gettin it on. So I listen to her, and we get it on, even though I don’t know what it is, or where to get it. I guess Layla just gives it to me.

Layla Ford wasn’t born in a hospital like I was, her parents planned her birth to be at home. Why they did this no one has the slightiniest flu of a clue. Anyways, Layla was born completely asleep, at first they assumed it was a still birth, but they checked her vitals and she was completely healthy, if not a bit stealthy, which is to say she was not concious. Everyone was trombonedously scared and confuzzed in the hud. But that night, everyone sleeping in the house shared a dream with her. The next morning everyone was bewildered to find that each one of them had experienced a dream where Layla was awake and crying for the entire dream. They decided that Layla was stuck in some strange dream trance, and had to bring her back to the conscious world through sharing a dream with her. Unfortunately, the institute found her before anyone there was able to bring her back. Layla’s parents were wealthy, and considering Layla’s potential, she was bought for much more than I was. The institute was able to enter her dream and bring her back to the conscious world to be studied.

and that is the short story of blah blah something.

but back to the story of blah blah something else.

As I rumbummage through my pack, past all the whore of a bore paperwork, my lappity, my cloths, amm-you-nition, and other randumb things that Layla didn’t feel like carrying, searching for her audio brik, I hear our target wake up from downstairs.

his muffled vociferation “flack!” and the clash of some metallic objects startle me. Our target isn’t supposed to be awake yet, but I guess we hadn’t given him the right dosage of sedatives. Layla is still dreaming, and I have no time to wake her up. I pack up our essentials, leaving only a few oddies and endies. I throw on my pack, and heft Layla over my shoulder, I forgot about the metal suitcase handcuffed to her, and get painfully reminded as it swings and collides with my crotch. As I belt out with a finely arranged arrangement of cursive curses, I hear the door to the downstairs room open, and a series of quick loud footsteps towards the stairway. I have to move fast, the front door to the hallway is out of the question, he’ll already be on our floor by the time I get there. It will have to be the window.

I quickly check that I still have the dead-tone-nator, and that all of the explosive charges are set, fed, and red. I walk to the window and notice the fire escape. “Thank spaghetti!” I exclaim, now having a way out. I try lifting the window open, but it wont move with my grove. The door bursts open and there he stands, 10 million feet tall and 14 billion tons of muscle. No wonder they sent us in to take care of this guy. You see, when Layla and I work together, we can mess around in people’s huds to make them do stuff, think stuff, or we can steal stuff from their memories. Lately, the institute has been making us make people kill themselves, which at first we were a bit hesitant about. But the institute told us that these were bad dudes that needed deading, so we went in their huds and made them commit suicide. Shortly after each mission we were sent on, the institute would show us headlines from the info lines about crime lords and all kinds of bad dudes committing suicide, so we felt a lot better about what we were doing, or at least I did, Layla thought something was fish dish about it but didn’t  really have a choice either way. The institute provided everything for us, and we wouldn’t have anywhere to go or anything to do without them.

So here I am, stuck between giant gorilla man and the immobile window. Gorilla man isn’t heppin’ toward me anymore though, our hud messing must have started to get to him, he looks a bit fancy trancy staring past me and out the window. But then he seems to clap out of it, and refocuses on me. He begins to advance toward me slowly, looking like he is torn between jumping out the windown or throwing me out of it. Layla and I were supposed to be out and about from the building before our targets awoke and put themselves dead so as not to raise any fingers from the author-eye-teas. So I would prefer to get out of here before any dead bodies are made. I put my hand up on Layla, who is still hanging unconscious over my shoulder, to readjust her hanging, or maybe just to feel her butt one last time before I die, butt as I do I feel her Swiss Kissed Farmy Life Knife™. Thinking quickly, I reach in to her  butt pocket, grab her butt- I mean knife, maybe I grabbed her butt a little on the way in, but I definitely grabbed the knife before leaving. So I’ve got the knife in my hand, I flip out the car jack attatchment and wedge it under the window and start jacking. By the time I get the window jacked up far enough to throw Layla out on to the fire escape, climb out, and pull the knife out from under the window, gorilla man is only a foot away from the window. He reaches back a fist and punches it through the window, I duck and glass shards are thrown everywhere. I grab the dead-tone-nator and press down hard on the butt on the button. I hear *BEEP* and then *POP* before all the noise goes out and gravity starts shifting. I look down at where the fire escape is bolted to the building, or in this case, no longer bolted to the building. The explosives had destroyed the inside of the room, and the shockwave had sent the fire escape away from the building. It continues to break away from the building, I turn to see what we’re falling towards and notice a much smaller building across the street below us. I brace Layla and I for the fall as the fire escape continues to bend away from the building. I keep hearing *PING* *PING* *PING* each time another section of the fire escape breaks away, and we jolt further and further away from the building and closer and closer out over the street and towards the smaller building. I look down through the fire escape and see people down on the street running away and pointing and shouting.

The last section of the fire escape breaks away from the building and suddenly we’re falling downwards now. The bottom of the fire escape hits the sidewalk and then continues to swing out towards the other building. Two sections down from our top section, the fire escape hits the top of the other building, wedging itself against the roof of this smaller building and the sidewalk on the opposite side. Layla and I are pushed out of the fire escape and I roll as we land on the roof, Layla just kind of flops.

I look back at the building and see smoke rising from the top two floors where we just were. The fire escape is now laying at a diagonal over the street below. I open up my pack, find my Rhinonoculars and look through them towards the top of the building. The explosives must have destroyed our entire floor, and sent gorilla man back down to his room below ours, through the window I can see his giant lard charred body stumbling around trying to figure out what just happened.

"Did it work?" I hear Layla behind me, I look and see that she’s bruised, I run to her and kneel down next to her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, you chug, I’m fine! What I want to know is if my staying asleep, and letting you glug my unconscious body around while you make the biggest mess ever, worked."

"Take a look" I hand her the oculars and she looks where I was just looking, and I look there too. I can still make out the charred body stumbling around, but suddenly it stops stumbling and looks out the window towards us. Then he lunges out of the window, shattering it, and sending his body flurteling towards the street below. Layla and I look at each other and smile, but then her smile breaks.

"You chugging, unlit tit face!"

"What?!"

"You almost got us dead!"

"Yeah, but I didn’t."

"But look at this whore of a mess you made!"

"I’m sorry."

"I guess that will have to do for now, but I bet you the institute wont be happy about it, so be ready when we get back."

"Okay"

"Now come here you tit face, and put your face on my tits."

Layla pulls me down on her, and we pull each other’s cloths down on the roof. We make each other’s blood rush back and forth, not taking our time, so as to get out of there before the constabularies show up and start trying to figure out what happened.

Grid Lines

Tonight’s writing exercise is thanks to this prompt

Grid Lines

My world is closing in around me, my body is forced to quickly contort, I feel the wind rushing past as gravity quickly shifts in all different directions, and then everything goes dark.

I wake up suddenly and my vision is blurry, I can’t feel my arms or legs and everything looks white. Slowly I feel the blood rushing in to my arms and legs and my vision returns. The dream is always the same, being crumpled in to a compact ball and falling in to a dark abyss. The ground is covered in perfect grid lines, and when I lift myself up off the ground, the grid lines stick to my body, I try to wipe them off but they won’t leave. I decide to start walking, what else is there to do? Not long after beginning my journey, I find strange symbols on the grid-lined floor. Some parts of the symbols adhere to the lines on the grid, creating giant three and four sided shapes, next to these large shapes are smaller squiggly shapes, I can’t make out what they mean.

I keep walking for what seems like an eternity, only seeing more of these strange shapes, I still can’t make any sense of them. Finally, I come to a place where the grid lines stop. I don’t know why they’ve stopped, it seems like beyond the place where they’ve stopped is nothing, not darkness particularly, but I know it would be impossible for me to continue beyond where the grid ends. I look both ways along the border of what seems to be the edge of the world. To my right I can just barely make out a shape on the ground, it looks different than the ones I’ve been seeing, so I quickly walk towards it. These shapes are even more curious than the previous ones, they don’t seem to adhere to the grid lines at all, and are appearing on the ground all by themselves. I can’t see what is creating these shapes, but it is fascinating. Each shape seems to begin as two vertical lines intersecting two horizontal lines, almost making a separate grid but not as perfect as the original one on the ground. After the lines are drawn, it seems like two sides take turns placing their symbol on one of the 9 boxes in the grid, neither side seems to win very many of the games. I keep watching for a while until the symbols stop appearing.

I continue walking along the border and keep seeing more strange and abstract shapes, a transparent cube, a spiral, several waves and scribbles of various size. I keep walking until I reach a place where I see the shapes stop, one shape seems to actually stop right where a pile of pinkish gray flakes have appeared, off in the distance I can see more of them and I decide to follow the trail. I find a lone shape surrounded by the pinkish gray flakes, and suddenly get a bad feeling. I hear a strange noise and look down at the shape, the lines making up the shape seem to be disappearing and where the void is created, the pinkish gray flakes are scattering and falling to the ground. I feel like if I stay here, whatever is destroying this shape will continue and destroy me. I begin to run back towards the other shapes and in my wake I can hear them being destroyed like the previous shape. I feel terrible for leading this thing towards the other shape, but I know that if I turn back I will be destroyed just like the rest of them.

After a while of running, I realize the sounds behind me have stopped, I decide to sit down and collect my thoughts. I feel like I have awoken in some kind of nightmare, like I woke up from one dream in to another dream. I try to test this theory by telling myself to wake up, or trying different things that would only work in a dream, but everything here feels real. I wish I could leave this place and go home, wherever home is. Suddenly, I begin to lose feeling in my arm, I look over at it and can see it is being destroyed just like the previous shapes, I try to leap to my feet, but I appear to be stuck on the ground, flat, in the position I woke up in. My arm stops disappearing just before my shoulder, and in it’s place another arm begins to appear, but this arm is bigger and longer, it feels awkward and out of proportion to the rest of my body. I am confused, but I don’t have time to try and figure out what is going on before hair begins to appear on my bald head.

The realization of where and what I am comes just as soon as the warm hands that distort and crumple the grid lines around me, my body is contorted in to a ball shape just before the piece of paper I was drawn on is hurtled in to the waste basket in the corner.