[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 5 most recent journal entries recorded in
Odd Fiction for an Odd World's LiveJournal:
|Friday, October 7th, 2005|
|Tuesday, July 26th, 2005|
My head hurts. My head's BEEN hurting for the past four months. When I decided to get the operation done, and have the chip inserted, there was nothing in that stupid pamphlet about an eternal migraine. Longevity, yes. A keen mind, yes. Weightloss, yes. Success, yes. A step a head of everyone else, why of course! But migraines, now who would want to know about THAT particular side effect? I should have spent that money on a nice laser gun, I could have accomplished a whole lot more and the only side effect would be extreme satisfaction.
The chip was supposed to be a miracle worker inside your little, pink pulp of a thinker. It was supposed to augment your beta waves and lower the theta and alpha. It was supposed to emit an energy rich fluid that would keep your brain in tip-top shape. It was supposed to be able to receive and transmit particular frequencies, basically, I would be able to listen to the radio whenever I wanted to. I was supposed to be able to tell my brother in Los Vegas that our old man croaked, without having to use a cell phone or webcam chat. Instead, I got a little bugar that keeps my alpha low, but augments my beta and theta waves at the SAME FREAKIN TIME. The nanomashits were programed wrong and instead of a high glucose type energy rich fluid, I have a liquid conductor in there. The static electricity produced from remembering my office number alone gives me a perpetual fro and makes socializing that much more difficult. I can't even get near a damn computer anymore without making the screen go haywire. You should see me when I have to remember someone's name. And that transmitting, receiving crap?--it's crap. I only transmit electricity, but I can receive every other god damn frequency man has ever created. The "radio" never turns off. I can hear whole conversations over the cell phone from people sixty feet away from me. I can watch streamlined videos when I go take a leak. I can get cable. If I tap dance, I get an extra thirty channels. But the crap never turns OFF. My brain is on the whole time farting out static electricity like a horse on lima beans. I fall asleep to "I Love Lucy" reruns. I wake up to Metallica. I take a shower and listen to Manny from eight floors up complain to her girlfriend about her husband's ineptitude.
I have got to find a way to turn it all off. I had thought about going back to the research institute and have them remove it, but the place burned down three and a half months ago. Freak accident they said. I say somebody got pissed, bought a damn laser gun, and stole my dream from me. I went to see a top-grade surgeon to have it removed, but he told me that he wasn't qualified to the job. Qualified my ass. He was scared I'd explode under the knife. I went to a computer genius and asked him to turn it off. He said the equipment to do that was impossible to get a hold of. I went to a god damn yogi and asked him if he could guru it off, he told me I had to flow with the ocean or some shit like that, to find my inner peace. Inner peace? If I had just bought the gun instead I'd have plenty of inner peace.
Two weeks ago I got fired from my job for an "attitude problem." It's not a problem, it's a catastrophe. It's doomsday behind my eyes. A week ago, I got kicked out of my apartment for threatening to burn it all down and showing up with three kerosene bottles the next day. Truth is, this chip is driving me nuts. Before I left I stomped into Manny's room and threw her cellphone out the door. She had no idea who I was; I had all the gruesome details of her miserable life. I. Am. Going. Nuts.
Now I'm broke, but I can watch all the reruns I want. I have no home, but I know that for the next week, New York will be having a cold front and a possible snow storms. I have no life, but know everything about everyone else. I'm even starting to think that that guru might have a point with that ocean crap.
If only I didn't have this headache, I could think of a way to get my life back.
Miracle worker my ass.
if there was more to this story, I will not know. I'm tired and have a headache of my own (inspiration). If there was a point, it's probably somewhere along the lines of , 'anything too good to be true, is.'
good bye nameless character who curses too much. Next time, I'm getting a duck as my character.
You don't have to read, but I have to write
Thirty dollars. Thirty fucking dollars. They expect me, mother of two, divorced, with a stinkin job at Nina's Cosmetics to spend thirty dollars on a pair of beat up lookin' Reeboks. Oh yeah, look at the rich thirty year old hag with money comin' out of every pore on her sweaty, fat, old body. I hate capitalism. I hate government. I hate anything that tells me that I can't FORCE that worthless excuse for a man to pay back every cent of child support he owes for the past five years. Most of all, I hate when second hand stores charge thirty bucks for a pair of shoes that are the only ones in my size. I have huge feet. I love my feet. The lord has never seen feet this beautiful. These feet feed my family and keep that roof over our heads. They see my kids through school and will see them through college. These feet kept walking when that worthless man threatened to hurt me and my children. These feet carried us all, Jamie and Nick in my arms, and never stopped til we got to the police station.
That's what makes a woman; not her breasts or her hips or her womb. Her feet carries her and her children through life, whether she walks on grass or goat heads. Her feet keep her moving even if there's no man to support her. Feet are important in life, and they ain't worth no beat up shoes. No thirty dollar beat up shoes somebody else threw away.
I'm itchin for some potato stew with onions and meat. I'll swing by that corner store on Fifth then get dinner ready. Thirty dollars. Lord their heads are second hand.
...needed a place to put stuff like this. Critique all you want- I just want a place to write where people can read it if they want. Cursing Christian... just the right character.
|Friday, February 18th, 2005|
So, everyone does creative stuff but me, so I'm adding some stuff. Honestly, please, be ruthless, I don't care :) Hell, I'd settle for you telling me if you want me to continue! This is NOT Fan-Fic, it's mine. And it's R-rated for language.( Read more...Collapse )
|Tuesday, June 3rd, 2003|
a thousand tomorrows
Buildings. Skyscrapers. Condos. Complexes reaching out as far and as high as the eye can see. Pristine. Clean. Almost blinding in their reflectiveness. Signs of a great, active people. Perfection in construction. One could imagine thousands upon thousands of people milling around in these buildings, living their lives, working their jobs.
"Except you can't. Because they're all gone."
This realization hit her like a maglev. Just like it did every time she started her round on watch. Who would've thought when the apocalypse came, it would be like this? There's no burning buildings, no smouldering ruins, no massive craters. Everyone is just gone, leaving a self running world in their wake as if they fully intended to come back tomorrow.
Well, almost everyone. Those left behind have been waiting for over a thousand tomorrows.
A thousand tomorrows, maybe more. It was so hard for her to remember, for any of them to remember. She blinked her eyes, pushing away the thoughts. Concentrate. She brought the scope back to her face, and went back to scanning the buildings and the horizon, watching, and waiting, for tomorrow.