[Toot!] Index: 0.0
Communism Bit: On
Location: Job, of course
I've had a week. Written more in this week, on this blog, than I have in some whole months. I'm close to one hundred posts in my archive! :o)
And not just my blog. I've been spewing lots of verbose comments in places. It's a habit I'm trying to fight (not that it is always bad, but you know ... Summer Glau may find me). Anyway, maybe I'll just comment less. Especially on topics that get me worked up. So if I vanish from your blogs, I'm trying to keep from blogging on them.
Iwaya is an écrivain nonpareil. Some people pronounce the name as eew-eye-ah, but me, I go like eye-why-ah. So, Iwaya writes well. I've collected and lost many links of his things, but there is this one, To My Unborn Daughters that I didn't lose. Go and read already. It's got some things typical of Iwaya's current style. Starts out like a friend seated across you in the pub. Then it gets ghostly about the stomach, grows darker. Red capillaries show up in its eyes later on, and a tear drop is set free about the knees, and by the time you reach the calf of the story, the pub buddy has vanished and has been replaced by the blind veteran telling a deep, dark story. The story gets to the foot, and the pub friend is back. And you wonder how it happened, and he is not revealing the trick. Iwaya. :o)
Will you please go and read that story?
Leads me to ...
I'm discovering the work of a story-teller. Maybe, some day, when I'm retired, I'll become a story-teller. You know, gather people around, maybe kids, and spin 'em a yarn. Maybe on a stage, although I have the most stage fright of any human.
There is this pretty girl I write stories for, these days. She says she likes them. The way we do it, I have no way to edit a line I've sent. It is done in chat, so the story must hold well as you go. No chances to use backspace. Every line I write is sent, and that's that. It's a nice experience.
I wanted to start off with a few lines (hence the telling format), and it grew into a series.
Previously in the story: the boy has killed the Soldier, and the girl is with the doctor. And the Police is looking for the boy. People had been hanged for smaller crimes. Where will the story go? I don't know, either, because most of the stuff comes as I type it.
Also, my cat had four kittens, and I'm so proud of them. Two are black (one more-so than the other), one is like beige with orange-like stripes, and the other pure white (I think it's an albino; I'll see). They are a cute bunch. I have taken pictures, but I don't have the cable with me. I'll upload them, sometime.
The white one gets me worried when it hyperventilates and then sneezes (or something). But we'll all be fine. :o)
Plus, I'm probably quitting my job, now. Soon. Things done happened. I'm excited about it, as well as worried. I just got four kittens, and it's just simply no time to be broke.
Also, I want to hire an adungu and record myself singing to my Ma and send her the record.
I'm supposed to be starting my own company, but I'm really too broke for it. I'll go into it, all the same, because I'll never be ready. I've learnt to burn my bridges behind me to create a reason to march forward.
So, if you find me begging by the roadside, sometime, help a brother out.
But seriously, I'm going to be broke. :o( Broke and busy.
For the disobedient, now that I've finished, here you are: go and read.