Christ Centered Gamer

Heh heh. Flatter.

As someone who put a large chunk of their day washing and waxing a car, I can't particularly declaim the love of shiny objects.

That sade...I think it's the sentiment behind it she appreciated; not that you gave her something, but that you cared enough about her to not want to hurt her feelings by giving her nothing.

I know I'd appreciate it.

You fail to help matters.

So, the only other restaurant at the lake opened up a Sunday brunch to compete with ours. Experience says it will suck, but I plan on finding out. Gonna roll up on my (loud) ATV, step off in solid black, my leather jacket (just up from FL, so no borrowing me grandpa's), walk in flashing money, and come out with pictures of the entire place and a full report.

Is there a part of this plan that isn't ill conceived?

It's an off day. Besides, you know never to seek counsel from da Chozon's, for we will say both no and yes.

That depends on whether or not you're wearing sunglasses and toting some sort of satchel.

Good plan. How about studded boots?

Nice touch. But only if you can avoid walking like you have a diaper rash.

Painting?

I prefer ink and charcoal.

But I would love to try my hand a surrealistic impression of the stars one of these days. Similar to Starry Night.

Otherwise, I never quite got the "WORK IN W-SHAPED STROKES" thing down.

I just spent 25 hours this week painting fences, sheds, buildings and picnic tables. It's not fun.


You ever just wanna throw all your crap in a bag and move on?

Because I'm seriously considering doing that. It's not like I've never burned bridges before, and to quote a certain someone, I know always that I am an outsider, a stranger in this century, and among those that are still men.

I've considered it, but not srsly.

Always seemed like running. And if movies and books have taught me anything, it's that running doesn't work.

Videro games, however, have taught me that running is sometimes the only way to avoid the giant boulder.

How on earth do people write poetry?

Crack open your heart and pour the contents onto the page.

Or perhaps set down with a purpose in mind, and find words to express that in an artful manner.

Sometimes, you look at what's selling on the market, and find a way to say the same thing but in a way that doesn't look like you're trying to use store-bought cookies as homemade. I FART IN THY FACE, USERS OF THIS METHOD.

And then sometimes the emotions just flow over your heart, down your arm and into your pen and paper.

Such is life.

I'll miss you now,
until this world is opened,
and the sundering seas unbroken
and flow gently to the West.

What a beautiful pain.

Or you know, strain for hours to find words that you can use to fit your meter.

What is it about words?

I'm pretty sure I went to the doctor for straining as a kid.

Hmm...I dunno. At once they're a simple means of communication for those times when a noncommittal grunt won't suffice, but they're also an indicator of there being more to humans and life than the physical; they have gone far past simple communicating and into the realm of art. They can be used to build up someone, or to destroy. They can coddle like a pudding, but also shred like a chainsaw. Words are to us as bones are to the Askirit.

I could wax poetic or I could wax a snowboard and go shredding. Which do you think I care more about?

...in the world inside my head it's not 80 degrees and sunny outside. Leave me alone. >_>

It'll be snowing here by the end of the month, I'll wager.

Gas?

...I may actually have hit you across the face were we within 24 inches of each other. IT's still freaking 80 degrees here, and will likely remain so, if not hotter, until November. -_-

I have it.

But automobile gas is expensive, and British (or was it German?) peoples have higher octane ratings.

In short, it blows.