brain fragments
brain fragments
The other day, a friend came to visit me whom I’d thought drifted away. He sat in my chair and talked to me for a few hours like nothing had happened. We were on different wavelengths for two or three weeks, but I suppose that’s just the kind of relationship we have.
“Tornadoes don’t come up this far. Too many mountains. That’s Kansas shit,” he reassures me. He never swears.
If I see Smilin’ Bob’s creepy grinning death mask one more time, this TV is going through the window.
Who hasn’t imagined Disney heroes in their underwear? It’s crossed my mind.
Sometimes making something gritty and real is just too much to resist. Real is brown, real is sudden and violent. Real is taking cartoon characters and showing you exactly how each hair flutters in an overly detailed breeze.
12:20 became 12:30, and that became 12:40. Then we were late.
They have meatloaf.
Random-ass conversation. Random ass-conversation. Replace the hyphen and any sentence becomes hilarious. If Randall Munroe says it, it must be true.
Earlier today I drew a picture of a woman looking up into a sunburst of red and gold, hair flying back, like she was hoping for something.
Epic fail. Epic succeed. Most people say “epic win,” but they don’t know just how wrong they are.
They told me to be more of a bitch than I already was.
Do you really think she tells you more than she tells us?
I never had trouble spelling Mississippi. Encyclopedia, however, gave me pause.
Xili xili huala huala yu xialai la.
“Don’t snap at me. I’ll snap back. Except it won’t be my fingers, it’ll be your neck.” We laugh, but everyone else just stares in shock.
You know that drawing I was talking about? I’m thinking of getting a huge-ass print of it… a huge ass-print. Oh no.