'one draft, written in ink, preferably by feather'

fail. partial fail, bonus points for effort and for the general strangeness of it.

(When I'm angry, from now on I'll just drop whatever I'm doing and piss away a few hours of my time writing nonsense and daring you find
fault in it (outside grammatical errors, b/c, well jeez, lay off it,
stop being so analytical, language is malleable. I should write a blog post about this or something, I'd title it 'Lost in Translation' and then cross it out so that I wouldnt be sued for copyright infringement. This is the world we live in, and people who are so finicky about spelling, after we've bastardized the spelling of so many...okay, I'll save it for the blog post. Until then, chill out and take it for what it is, a reproach of the whole "me me me attitude that more than half a decade of facebook" has brought about, if most counted the number of pictures they've taken of themselves...the saying 'my life is a photoshoot,' wouldn't be far from the truth, to fill the space between shots (presumably while we wait for new photographers) we go work ourselves to the bone, why? To fund the photoshoot of course, your not famous, probably, noone pays you to just stand there and look pretty (give us a duck, baby!), no, but wouldn't that be awesome. And wouldn't it be less sad if we didn't have to pay for the entire trip to niagra falls (all the way from australia (o my, what wonder! why this fascination with a pitcher of water? (it's the same stuff here as it is there/[(*|isn't it?)]) - says every whos actually from there and is as equally bored if not less with their lives, /[(but they know, more than anybody, | at least they know)] boredom is a choice.)) Where was I? Oh, blog post, haters gonna hate, wasting time because I just wasted the better part of my best "get shit done" hours, steaming mad, now - I don't know...I wanna be angry, but I can't, I wanna read something (oooo, good idea! (see that? i lied, i was still harboring some negative feelings, but now that I've thought of picking up that book I left all too itself a day or so ago, or maybe more (heaven forbid) as that would mean i'm getting a bit sloppy (sounds like me))) Is that it? I think so. I'm out.

Look, I am the worst writer in the world, I know this. But I also believe in the awesomely powerful capability of our brains. To this point in our history we have undoubtedly underestimated it's prowess. Nature has done beutiful things since the precambrian period; between each of our ears exists the remnants of our evolution to this point. Gold fish aren't known for their brains, imagine how small and limited in it's intended function it must be. Do goldfish have attention spans? Do goldfish ever contemplate their lives, question their surroundings, go on hunger strikes in the hopes you'd buy them better quality food(organic, not that processed shit)? Is there any sense in trying to make sense of the movements of a goldfish? Consider that I forget he 6th last thing I just thought, without fail unless I commit the 5th to memory before allowing other thoughts entry (a nice thought...). Know that this is a real example, yes I'm terrible, but considering my god given ineptitude and considering the many layers of brain and the ingrained currents that pulse from one neuron to another at speeds, consider the size of my brain, consider the size of a goldfish (not those mutant goldfishes with three eyes you find handing out around nuclear powe plants, those mother****rs are seriously twisted, I've never seen such hairy arm/[(s|pits)], and they all got anchors as tattoos like it were a right of passage when each one turned 18 in human years, and started given us serious competition in sports like soccer and major league baseball (damn those left handed cross eyed bastards and they're incredibly long shl-). Not those guys, I wouldn't be surprised if some hormonal teenager one day got carried away, we really shouldn't have bought Johnny a goldfish, what he really needed was a girlfriend.)