Doom @ MindSay

Well when I started this new blog, I didn't realize the prophetic nature of the "New Start" concept. I have very recently become unemployed...this was in no way expected and I'm still a bit in shock. There was a time when I would have looked at this as a 6 month vacation (courtesy of unemployment insurance), but now with the economy the way it is...I'm a bit frightened. Between the price of food and gas and the uber competitive job market, it's gonna be a challenge....I need to decide if I want to stay in Kansas or if I want to get the hell out of Dodge (pun intended - No I don't really live in Dodge City, but it wouldn't have been nearly as funny....)

On to more important stuff.....

I have refrained from weighing in on the Sarah Palin debacle simply because I wanted to make sure my gut instincts were right and now I think it's safe to say they are.
The woman is a bit dense. Ambitious, yes...Calculating, yes...Cutthroat Bitch (in the House sort of way) probably. But I have the feeling that the idea of intellectualism is lost on her. On that note, why is it that Republicans hate smart people so much? Seriously, being an Intellectual should be lauded not derided. A President or Vice-President lacking in intellectual curiosity is not what our country needs. Look what that's done for us the last 7 years.....people need to quit voting like they are choosing the king of their favorite bar and elect a man or woman that has the intelligence to run our country.

And let me also say that any woman that would vote for Sarah Palin just because she is gynecologically similar should have their woman card pulled. I don't want rich white guys deciding what I do with my body and I sure as hell don't want some gun toting hockey mom doing it either.

Well football's on and this post is a rambling mess....so I think I'm gonna leave it for now.... :)

The ULTIMATE DOOM WEAPON!

THE CLASSIC QUESTION: HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL?


If when you awaken, you growl and assume
This day is doomed to be laden with gloom,
Your glass is half empty.

Don't you think that strange?


Maybe tomorrow your thoughts will align
More closely with cheer, and a day that is clear.
And a glass that's half full.

That you could arrange!


So, make yourself happy, allow in the sun.
Vow to see smiles along all the miles
Assuring a glass half full.

Enjoy the sweet change.

I'm in the midst of writing something, and I've hit an impasse. This is frustrating to no end, of course, especially when you have fangirls awaiting your latest installation of porn.

I'm three pages in.

THREE.  BLEEDING.  PAGES.

In smut terms, that's quite a lot for me, but really, when you pare it down to the pure, unadulterated porn, it's only about a page and a half.  The rest is "plot" and fluff- put in to keep the kiddies happy, and everyone in character.

I want to write a man's version of "School Life In Paris."  To hell with the lesbians.  Everyone writes lesbians nowadays.  And what isn't lesbian or straight porn is invariably this "yaoi" crap that demeans bottoms to no end.  For once, I want to read a good, porny story with a bottom that isn't basically a girl with a dick.  Fuck the girly bottoms, and not in the fun way.

Ah, well. Such is the life of a porn writer.

Maybe if I get enough done tonight, I'll post it on here.  After all, this is my lit blog.

I've been having odd dreams lately, and here's one of my favourites.

I begin in what looks like an attic room, lit by a bare bulb. There is a nameless, unknown presence in there with me; I cannot see him except out of the corner of my eye, and he does not speak to me at all. In fact, I am quite sure that he is dead, and merely watching me.

It seems I have been in this room for some time.

There are artifacts all around me- notable ones being a rocking chair with a teddy bear sitting in it, a mirror with a dress hanging off of it, and a noose suspended from a rafter. There are many more things populating this extraordinarily clean space (it almost looks like an antique store, save for the heavy locks on the door, to which I have no key), but none of them really catch my eye.

I reach for the rocking chair to run my fingers over the seasoned wood, when I am suddenly sitting in the chair- but I am not entirely myself. I scream, rock, and tear at my now-ancient flesh with ragged fingernails, trying to escape my own mind, with no success. The teddy bear falls from my lap. My nails gouge ravines in my arms and chest, and I am suddenly forcibly ejected from the chair by someone much stronger than me.

I come back to myself, and go to pick up the teddy bear, to place it back in its home, when again I am the old woman, tearing at herself and screaming- only now she has bled herself into a ruin, and I can hardly feel the pain of my wounds. I fall from the chair, and black out.

When I come to, all is as it was. The teddy bear is in the chair. I am, for the most part, alright, if shaken.

The dress on the mirror catches my eye, and I go to investigate. It looks like an old bridesmaid dress, somewhat tacky, but obviously high fashion in its own time. I reach out my fingers to touch the pink satin-

I am wearing the dress, feeling pretty for the first time in my life. I twirl happily. I look like Mommy used to, before she was married. We share the same lips, the same eyes, the same smile. Admittedly, my hair is much shorter, but that's just a technicality. I'm pretty.

I hear the door slam downstairs, and my breath hitches. If Daddy sees me wearing Mommy's dress, he'll be very angry with me, and I will be beaten.

He calls my name. I hear his footsteps coming upstairs, and can all but smell his rage. He's been drinking again, I know it.

The door bursts open, and the look on his face as he sees his son in his dead wife's dress is that of pure wrath.

Daddy will be angry...

And I am back to myself. The dress is still hanging on the mirror. The figure in my peripheral vision is a little less distinct, but giving off a strong feeling of sadness. I look into the mirror to assure myself that yes, I am alright-

It's all worthless. I'm never going to live up to anyone's expectations. I may as well stop being such a damned burden to everyone.

I raise the pistol to my head, and look in the mirror. I'm so young, and yet I know I'm never going to amount to anything. I can't take it anymore. Dad never forgave me for being a fag.

I begin to squeeze the trigger-

I'm back. I'm on the ground, crying for my mother, and glad to be back in my own body, with my own face.

It's pretty obvious by now that tragic things took place in this attic- a young man (transgirl? Unlikely. I never actually got that vibe from his mind) killed himself up here.

One last eye-catching object to go- the noose.

I gird my loins, and reach up to touch it-

-how did I miss with the gun? The doctors said I was lucky, but they don't know. They haven't seen what I've seen. They haven't had those hands on them. They haven't had that disapproving glare trained on them.

I make doubly sure the rope is attached to the rafter, and place the noose around my neck. Good. I've got it.

I kick the stool out from under me and-

I'm back to myself, but I'm still choking, still hanging, and the world is starting to sparkle around the edges...

...and wiry arms are lifting me up, pulling the noose off of me, gently setting me down on the floor. I see what used to be the indistinct figure smiling down at me(he looks like Justin Long), and his lips move as if to speak, but no sound comes out. I reach for him, and he pulls away, still smiling, and points up.

I look to where he gestures, and am horrified to see what looks like a human face stitched onto the ceiling, just low enough for me to touch. It's fairly clear that he wants me to reach for it, so I do...

The mouth opens, and a great wind sucks almost everything in the room away, save for the noose. A crunching sound behind me makes me turn. There's now a hole in the plaster and brick, and I must go through...

That's where the dream ends. I wake up.

Bizarre, eh?