I have been filled with burning questions lately. Mostly about the acid that I spilled on my groin (oh just don't even fucking ask how, alright--though trust me, never try to remove a tattooed pet name from your penis just because you think you have a better one....
I didn't tell M. this is what happened right? I'm safe putting it in here because M. doesn't read my writing. She says, kindly enough, that she would rather just hear me perform the better, more polished stuff, but I suspect this is really symptomatic of her hatred of what she often refers to as, '...ceaseless babbling." I mean, she has even called my lectures to the hamsters ceasless babbling, so you know how wrong she is about this.
You readers are like the people I am having a mental affair with. Like Jack Nicholson said once when he was asked if he lied to women and he answered, taking the cigar out of of his smiling, sunglass dominated face, "I don't lie to the one who I am having the affair with."
I know that feeling all too well from short forays in my past into sanctified, matrimonial beds not of my building -- GO AHEAD, ADD ADULTRY TO THE LIST OF REASONS I AM GOING TO YOUR SILLY LITTLE, OH SO BORING HELL.
Anyways, I am merely sitting at these keys because it is easier than working on the book, at the moment, and someone suggested a topic that I should write about, which I wanted to get down in here.... for present or future exegesis? There is presently another rise in apocolyptic thinking. Gee, what's with that?
I once tried to explain to an atheist prof. that just because there have been groups since the beginning of time declaring that the world was going to end with them still around -- saved by an easter bunny drawn in a sleigh with reindeer -- that this hardly did not mean that we were indeed in the end times.
Not that I think of End Times like suspicious boofs, of course. I look the world and see shit no god would have done, and in this godless world some things are real. The environment being the biggest one.
By the way, there is now some controversy going on with my dead beat boyfriend status. I mean, I get a little money, but nothing like what I could earn working, and my health keeps me from contributing much to the housework. So you can imagine how different M.'s mother in law and my dear mum view my life's lot. I can go from 'da bum' to the struggling artist by dialing various numbers on my phone, I suppose.
ALL WRITING IN HERE IS THE PROPERTY OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY, AND YOU CAN GET MY PERMISSION TO PERFORM AND REPRINT WITH AN EMAIL. Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates.