My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

Okay, so, I enjoy guns, guns as thing. I like the sound a rifle makes when it’s cocked, I like the sound a revolver makes when one pulls the hammer back, I like muzzle-flash, I love the cracking sound machine-guns make… Aesthetically, I love everything about guns. I don’t like how guns are a thing people use to end other people’s lives, in a perfect world we’d only use guns to put down zombies.

Anyway, I have this Things to Do list that really isn’t getting done. I’m thirty, I’m old, the list needs to get moving again. To that end, one of my things is to fire a gun with an assistive technology switch. I have no idea how this would work. Would the switch connect directly to the gun? Would the gun be fired by way of software running on my MacBook Air that I’d access by way of my NeuroSwitch? I don’t know.

Do any of you know how I might fire a gun with a switch? I really don’t care what kind of gun I’m firing, I just want to fire at some target until said gun is empty. Can anybody help? I live in Tampa, I especially totally welcome local help.

I’m thinking about someone, I can’t sleep. It’s like part of me is somewhere else, and I want to be there, in that place, so I don’t have this empty feeling in my chest.

I’m still pretty scattered, but I really am trying to post every-day and if I keep doing that, at some point, I’ll write something pretty. So, that’s the plan.

Yesterday, I started a big project, well, I made Lauren, my assistant, start it. A few years ago I got lazy and quit tagging my blog posts, really, my assistant, Sarah, used to tag them and when she retired, I didn’t keep it up. Part of it was, I just missed her, and doing the tags or making someone else do them, that just made me miss her more. So, the tagging stopped. Yes, an assistant’s just an employee, but the good ones, they do get really important. I miss them when they go, there’s a real sense of loss, another person who goes. Sarah was around when my thumb quit working and I could hardly type, hardly talk to anyone, before the NeuroSwitch. People weren’t really around anyway. Sarah was around though, so we’d go to lunch, at night we’d go to the bar, we’d alphabet conversations. She was good with the alphabet and smart to talk with, so she kept me sane when I really needed it. Sometimes, sitting at the bar, with a vodka tonic and ten dollars worth of Elliott Smith in the jukebox, I’d alphabet flash stories that she’d type up after. She was around for twenty-ish tattoos. She stopped me from dying once. She was around when I really needed someone to be around. A fix for a fix, but we were close and had fun. So, yeah, when she left, the tagging stopped.

Anyway, we’re tagging again, Lauren’s off to a spectacular start. Tonight, I go for another tattoo, and then and then and then…

I’m maybe going to finish this story.

There was once, many years ago, this turtle named, Kurt. Kurt was very slow, and very melancholy. He was the slowest, most melancholy turtle in all of Turtleeville. Turtleville being the largest settlement of turtle-folk for a thousand miles in any direction.

The story goes that a group of turtles, just ten friends, five ladies and five fellows, decided they’d leave home and walk to The Edge of the World. They were, of course, mocked, as no such place could possibly exist. Every turtle knew that the world went on forever, forever and ever. These ten turtles, however, insisted that, if they just walked long enough, and far enough, they’d reach the much laughed at, Edge of the World.

So, they said their goodbyes, some called them the stupidest turtle-folk ever to be hatched, others called them whimsical adventurers, brave enough to follow their hearts, and with such chatter at their backs, they walked. They walked for what felt like a century, they lost count of how many starry night-skies they slept underneath, and how many orangey sunrises they woke to. They just walked, and walked, and kept walking, determined to prove that they were whimsically brave, not stupid.

Being turtles, nothing particularly exciting happened, as nothing particularly exciting ever happens to turtle-folk. They just walked, and walked, and walked a little more. I say a little, not because they did, at very long last, reach the Edge of the World, but rather, they just stopped walking. One day, they stopped to graze on the green grass under the shade of a majestic oak tree, the largest, most magnificent oak they’d ever laid eyes on. After their lunch, which was delicious, they went for a drink from a nearby lazy river, the slowest river with the clearest water they’d ever so seen. This river was so clear, the turtles could plainly see, and have conversation with, the river’s resident fish.

So, I’m trying to post more, I’m making a concerted effort. Really, I’m making an effort to set life right again. When life feels good, the writing follows. The last few months have not been stellar. Honestly, it’s been more than a few months. I’m ultimately responsible for my life and making it comfortable, it just gets exhausting when things don’t go right for a long enough stretch. Depression sets in, which really doesn’t help make anything turn good again, it just feeds the slump.

I’m waking up, I think. I’m trying harder, at least.

After thinking about it, I feel like I wasted the previous two posts. If I were quitting this blog, they’d be perfect. They’re just an obscure allusion to British TV that suited my mood at the time, still kind of do. I’m tired lately, but nothing’s finished, the blog isn’t finished. This blog probably won’t be finished until I am, that’s been the goal, anyway. This blog is supposed to reflect me, I’ve called it a live memoir, and I think I’ve been doing what I set out to do. Life isn’t always up, it’s a disturbing roller-coaster, and I think this blog is accurately reflecting my ride. Though, the roller-coaster metaphor is actually pretty stupid, it implies that we have absolutely no control over what happens while we’re breathing. We have free-will, just enough to make things interesting.

I have free-will, I have some control over my current… ennui. I have to get out of this.

It’s finished!

It’s not finished!

I could put down a bunch of words, but they wouldn’t do anything, or mean anything, or change anything. Or I could put down a bunch of violets. Violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets violets. Either way, it’s the same affect, no matter the words. Whatever I put down is passionless, pointless.

So, I’m back from Cincinnati.

I just want to amend something from my last post. Saying I shouldn’t be thirty, I didn’t mean that literally, or mean that I don’t think I should be thirty. It was just rambling based on doctors a long, long time ago saying I probably wouldn’t tun one. I was being melancholy, introspective, but definitely not literal. I AM thirty, and so, there’s no should or shouldn’t. Like I said, I wasn’t really articulating well.