- (no subject)
- August 9th, 2009
I spent the day playing with my very energetic three year old niece.Lovely but exhausting three year old niece. Hence I was hoping i'd be able to sleep tonight, but for some reason my brain has decided to wake me up in the middle of the night. Possibly it has something to do with the fact that my Dad just told me he plans to marry someone from Brazil over twenty years younger than himself who he has never met. But enough of that.
I suppose i should start with the name. But there really is no explanation. Its just the first thing that popped into my head. I've always been terrible with internet related names.Dr. Wombaty, for example, was once my email adress.Now i just stick with my boring old actual name. It really is much safer that way.
I'm not sure what i'm going to do with this journal. Partly i created it so i can stalk ellymelly. Whose journal is very impressive with much proliferation of writtings and iconography and makes my journal kind of embrassed at its nakedness. But despite its current nakedness my journal has aspirations. Oh yes it may be far flung from civlization, alone in the monotonus outskirts of suburbia with the rest of the mass produced dream homes and the plain cardboard walls so thin you hear far more than you ever want to. But it has aspirations. It has an aspirations that one day it will have an attic. An attic filled with cobwebs and dust that goes swimming with the solitary rays of sunlight from the attic window. And they will go forth together and make lots of baby poems. And this journal that has becomes a house will have pink bats. Pink bats between its inner walls and tripple glazed windows. But the windows will have cracks in them so they make another poem with the image of the garden outside. And this journal has an aspiration that one day it will meet other journals and they will make a family together and move to the inner city and be late-sipping, chardonnay drinking, sushi eating wankers together. And during the night the pink bats will turn into the other kind of pink bats and eat the rats and warm the house with their body heat.
There was more about the bat droppings being used to grow mushrooms in between the walls but i thought i should stop before i completely destory the notion anyone happening to read this might have that i am in anyway sane. If i could just go back to being serious for a moment, I have a notion that maybe i'll use this journal to try and get myself to write. Only problem is the last time i wrote something that could even vaguely be constructed as an actual fictional piece rather than a haphazard collection of sentences it was entilled ' The Amazing Penguin Pooper'. I was sitting at my friend's desk bored because she hadn't woken up yet. And there was this toy penguin that walked across the desk and pooped when you wound it.