by Max Nelson on September 21, 2012
So going back over the resounding success that was my previous entry I have decided to once again try my hand at the little writing excercize which I am thus to name but basically entails me writing at a non-stop action-packed pace while at no point pausing to think about what I am writing down. The result being ill-formulated run-on sentences like the preceding introduction and the subsequent paragraphs which are to follow.
You see, it’s quite easy to sound smart while you’re saying nothing at all. In fact, there is an inverse relationship between how smart you sound and how much useful data you’re actually transmitting it is known as “Hoffwald’s Antler” and that is a completely made-up fact that requires no thinking or further inspection but should be taken, sans salt, as an immense truth of our current everyday culture. I am also going to go as far as to say that Honey-time is fast approaching and by honey-time I mean a time in which I douse myself in honey and lock myself out in my car while moaning angrily at the squirrels on my block.
Ok, I already hate the direction this paragraph has taken and part of the reason for that is my indecision on what I should write down. I am already trying to emulate my last journal entry which I just read over for the first time and chuckled at, and the result is a poor imitation of what was only good because of its spurious and inimitable qualities. I like how the things im writing generally inch towards what I am actually thinking, therefore slowly becoming more truthful as the paragraph develops, I think I cannot view this as a finished piece but rather as an excersize whose value is not in the product it yields, but in the thoughts uncovered during the process. Yes, thinking about it in this way is more pleasing and as I write this it begins to become fun. I can say things like “moose” without fear that It will ruin my precious paragraph and instead confident that it doesnt even fucking matter. Im going to go get some beer and drink over at my buddy Will’s house and suggest you do the same.
I am also going to continue writing at a rapid pace until i am satisfied that i have exhumed something of meaning or value. That something will probably be a moose. Im just being realistic. because honestly there is truly no more majestic a creature and if there was it would probably be a goose, and the two would probably team up and the goose would ride the moose, no it would not fly because it is lazy and doesnt like the cold wind underneath its wing-feathers, i think we can all agree that thats pretty uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as writing things down which you dont like and knowing that you are going to have to live with those things being on paper for eternity. And when I say paper I mean magnetically charged particles on the Hard-drive of a server somewhere, and yes I have a loose grasp on the functionings of hard-drives and yes that makes me better than you. Actually the things that make me better than you, and by you I refer to the majority of Earth-s population who I assume to be less adept at writing than myself, is in fact my ability to charge a 98 Toyota Tercel directly into a brick wall. This is a rare skill, overlooked by scholars and academics alike, but greatly valued by hobos and the criminally insane. It is a skill which I consider to be almost my greatest asset, and one which I will eventually utilize to the benefit of myself and indeed the entire world around me. Ask me how, I dare you. I double dare you mothafucka.
Sorry, pulp fiction has been playing in my kitchen the last few days and frankly its the most glorious thing I couldve possibly imagined. Other than a duck covered in some sort of duck sauce. Its funny that that really is the most gllorious thing I can imagine right now. I guess that is a testament to my malnourishment, and indeed our food driven-instant gratifictation craving society at large. But I’ll tell you one thing. I sure as hell dont want to sit in my room and try to make myself do art alone for the rest of the evening. I want to go out and get gratified, preferably with some expedience. It is thus that I am going to go to Will’s house and drink some beers. With any luck this night will culminate in a violent orgasm of destruction which is essentially the craving of my Id whom I seek to now satisfy. Sorry, Super-ego, I really like these words you write or whatever But im tryin to fuckin run a business here and I cant have customers all comin’ in barefoot, gettin gay on all the furniture. lezzing out with all the mannequins or whatever. Okay im sory I just wanted to say the term lezzing out and I did it at the expense of the humorous paragraph which was going so well for me. Honest to god -I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I wouldnt even think about it. Id just do it. Id sit down at my computer and I’d do it. so hard. again and again. in rapid succession, and I know what you’re thinking “Max is this some kind of wierd sexual thing?” Yes and No. Yes in the sense that I am currently masturbating as I write this (literarily and figuratively ) and no in the sense that I have no idea what I’m talking about and nothing really in this entry so far has any real meaning and/or thematic interest.
I really have to go now but Im just so on a roll that I don’t want to stop and I think the indecision is helping me in a way that only indecision and chocolate sprinkled donuts could help a man. And when I say a man I am of course referring to the guy who sells hot dogs on campus because he, and his hot dogs, Hell, especially his hot dogs, are indicative of every man Ive ever met in America and it is thus he stands, an avatar of contemporary societal conflicts. With all this said Im going to get the fuck out there and sit around awkwardly as I nurse a beer and don’t talk much because thats what you don in civilized company and If I were to go off on a monologue such as this, Id probably be considered rude and annoying. Id also probably fail miserably because its much harder to be random and silly and indeed anything at all out loud in public than it is in the safety of your own computer chair at home in your desk accompanied by your stuffed animal Mr. wiggles, who is contrary to popular belief not a homosexual and how dare you libelous slandering jackanapian jackanapes try to jackanape your way into my subcounscious with your jackanpering jackanapery. Seriously you’re all a bunch of fucking jackanapes and Im sick of it. I’m really sick of it. I cant even stand it anymore Im that sick. And now, my fucking friends, its time to go get radical.