Something Borderline Creative

Well, don't get to used to this, as I said in my first post motivation can be a bit of an issue for me, but with the inspiration that brought about this blog there was also a previous idea I got onto paper, or rather Microsoft Word. It's a bit of a rant, and it's only the beginning of whatever it might some day become, but that's why I'm putting it up. Any suggestions for where to go with this, or just any improvements I could make in general are welcome. It starts off as a bit of a rant, but I've been encouraged to put it up here so I will. If I'm going to be a blogger I might as well take advantage of it fully. Any criticism is welcome, be it positive or negative. Even if you're some girl who just wants to tell me I'm an asshole, that's cool, but I'm sorry about your being born dumb. I also need to apologize for my repetition of the alliterative phrase I was so pleased with myself for coming up with yesterday, but I actually wrote it out for this document first. I'll try not to use it again. Document... I don't know what to call this piece-- I'm hoping to get it into story form at some point. Also, in this case I did underline the title of our not so proud school paper.

Evolution, Slowly Finding a Dream

(tentative)

I’m evolving. I only just realized this today. I’ve been confused about my status for some time now, facing a sort of crisis in self realization. Today, it seems like I’ve put it all together. I saw this girl walking up to the library with a shit-eating grin on her face. We used to be acquaintances. To be a bit more specific, I used to want to fuck her—for some strange reason which I don’t now recollect. Anyhow, this particular girl, whom I do not speak to any longer, helped me realize what’s wrong with me. First off, this girl has got to be one of the dumbest people I’ve ever met.  I never listened to her long enough to experience her stupidity first hand, but I know ignorance when I see it. The bliss she displays walking to the library is a dead giveaway. If it weren’t for that bliss, I’d look no further than SUNY Cortland’s own Dragon Chronicle, in which she writes incredibly insightful articles about things such as the hardships of being a waitress, her love of being unsophisticated (complete with a string cheese cameo), and why her male friends don’t see her as “hookup material.” I must admit, I did read one article in which she attempted to cover a topical journalistic debate, the war in Iraq. Of course, she offered only her personal opinion—minus any facts to back it up. I don’t mean to pick on this particular girl, for most are like her. She just seems to represent so well the portrait of ignorance being bliss. I mean, how fucking dumb can you be? The worst part, she’s completely ignorant of her own intellectual ineptitude. I can’t say whether or not I’d want to be there; but I can assure you it will be quite a scene when the real world blasts her in the face with a shovel. No, SUNY Cortland does not have a good communications program; no, I would never in a million years let you write for my paper; no, not even if you let me fuck you. Does anyone else see this inevitable conversation in this girl’s future? I’m sure she’s so proud to write for the Dragon Chronicle; one word, defuse, as in, diffuse the bombers. Witty, I know. In short, this girl helped me realize why I’m having trouble finding myself. I’m not happy all the time because I’m not that fucking dumb. I now have a plan, and yes, I will be taking over the world in due time.

Well I’ve got ambition, sort of. I’m setting my mind on a goal; you may say it’s just a pipe dream, but I believe anything’s possible. I was reading Playboy the other day, yes, READING. I put emphasis on that fact because you know what, it was a damn good article: well written, articulate, interesting. Anyways, I’m not there yet, but I believe the potential is there for me to write those types of articles. So I figure, whomever is writing these articles (and it could be me) has got to be getting one hell of a perks package. I mean I’m sure it’s not as good as being a photographer, but you must at the very least get the occasional invite to the mansion, maybe Hef would even throw you a second helping or two. But fuck that, I wouldn’t need any man’s seconds, not even Hef. I’d write articles so witty and insightful all the bunnies would want a piece of my action. The critics would say I’d brought a new kind of humor to a once-considered low brow magazine. Forgive me for being Chandleresque (obscure literary reference inserted), but it could happen. And like my articles, I’d be the life of any party at the mansion; I’d be cracking jokes and grabbing cottontails like someone who truly belongs. I’d be that guy with the life everyone envies, slaying bunnies left and right. I’d eventually grow tired of the silicone and collagen and find myself a woman worth spending the rest of my life with, a Natalie Portman type: sophisticated, intelligent, still beautiful. We’d take over the world together, all in due time.