Throwback Thursday

Hello dear readers!

In honor of throwback Thursday, which is apparently a thing, I'm posting a piece I had written in college.  Back in those days circa Fall 2011-Spring 2012 I joined the staff of the college newspaper.  I didn't and still don't see myself as a news reporter or journalist at all, but rather an English major who simply wanted to write something.  Eventually after several articles that had nothing to do with on or off campus current events I gained the title Evergreen Queen.  Typically my writings erred on the side of general and random topics as a means to have a witty-ish title.

With that, I present to you:

How to Take a Dump

Throughout the course of one’s love life, a little heartbreak is inevitable. Some may never have to weather the storm of post-relationship depression, anger and tempestuous revenge-hunger, but for those of you that will have to and have had to…here’s some advice about how to take a dump:

Take a dump with friends: Being dumped is a tough, and often isolating, experience. Return to your social roots, your friends before Sam, Amanda or Charlie. They are the ones that knew you with all your quirks, habits, and impromptu celebrity impersonations. They will tolerate your wet works and then backhand slap you back to reality and self-worth. Friends are unafraid to tell you how simultaneously insane, awesome and obnoxious you are.

Take a dump with distractions: Losing what you thought was your other half is a disorienting thing. You begin to wonder if the things you loved were really the things you loved because the, one you loved, loved them. Thus you find yourself without the person that wrote up your itinerary for fun. Pick up new hobbies that will stimulate your mind and draw attention away from the gaping chasm in your chest, where your heart once was. These distractions may be fleeting hobby fads or something that leads you to your new lease on life. The point is to find things you like to do. Stalking your ex  and making hate collages with old photos are not viable options.

Take a dump with confidence: So you’ve just been dumped and this could easily send you into a downward spiral of Häagen Daz ice cream and self-loathing. Don’t give in. Embrace yourself in your epicness. For x amount of time you’ve identified yourself with that other person to the point that he/she is another facet of you. Sure there’s a vacancy in your bed and/or social life, but there shouldn’t be an all-consuming loss of what makes you, you. Celebrate the fact that you are now a free spirit and that you are free to eat an entire pint of caramel cone Häagen Daz motivated by cravings and not by break up blues.



Here’s some advice about how not to take a dump:

Do not take a dump vocally: It’s fine and dandy to weep and rage to your inner circle of friends. However, tweeting, blogging, and ranting through a social media outlet will garner bad attention. You may win some sympathetic, empathetic comments and likes. But don’t dwell on the negative. If you must status-update, tweet or whatever, do so by focusing on the positive. Here’s an example status update, “Wow, I didn’t know how much room my tiny extra long twin bed had until last week. WIN!” or “So this is what it’s like not dipping into my roll-over points come Tuesday. Weird!”

Do not draw out a dumping with denial: You know when you’re being dumped. You may get dumped via email, text, tweet, Facebook message or even old fashioned face-to-face dumping. Do not pretend that you weren’t dumped and hold your breathe for the next four months waiting for the dumper to realize his/her wrong. This is a very painful way to take a dump. Take your dump as cleanly and maturely as possible. Don’t deny the dump because it’s real and the relationship is dead all the same, even if you pretend it isn’t. Accept what’s happening and move on.

Remember that taking a dump is a messy, painful, and, at times, stressful process.   However, in the end you will come out whole, happy, and free.


- See more at: Original Source

Because Eargasms Are a Thing

Because Eargasms Are a Thing

The only concerts that I have been to are choir and band high school concerts I have performed in and Toto in sixth grade.  I went with my dad and his chums to see Toto rock out.  Luckily, this past weekend through the generosity of the band Our Last Night I was able to really experience live music.  I attended their tour concert with Chiodoos and other bands at SOMA down in San Diego. 

Our Last Night according to Wikipedia is a post-hardcore band with five members.  Trevor Wentworth (vocals), Matt Wentworth (guitar, vocals), Alex "Woody" Woodrow (bass), and Tim Molloy (drums).  They were briefly signed with Epitaph records, but are currently independent.  Although the band has been around since 2007, I discovered them via a Spiked Nation upload of their Adele "Skyfall" cover.  Compelled by their rock transformation of the epic James Bond theme, their covers found a comfortable place on my workout playlist.  This past fall they released their album Oak Island, which is definitely worth a good listen with your car windows rolled up because listening to it will prompt you to drum violently on your steering wheel.  I can say this from experience. 

Although I haven't attended many live concerts outside of orchestral music, I have heard many recorded live performances.  Many of these can unfortunately sound so far from the studio recording, that it's rather off putting.  This couldn't be further from the case with Our Last Night. 

They were spot on. 

All the members of the band proved that, not only do they convey that they are bloody passionate about what they do, they are really really true to form live.  Throughout the concert, I would find myself closing my eyes just letting the music roll over me and really recognize that they don't bullshit around.  The sound live as they are recorded.

How the shit can a person sing so well while traipsing around stage like an acrobat tethered to a mike?  I know not.  The members of the band were animated despite the at times so-so San Diego crowd.  I love seeing the non-vocals oriented members of the band singing with their bandmates even if there isn't a mike pressed to their mouth.  The comfort and pleasure that the members had in performing with one another was evident in their interactions on and off stage. 

Fortunately, the band had more time than anticipated in their set, which allowed them to play more off of Oak Island, their previous records, and a cover.  Their Katy Perry cover of "Dark Horse" certainly livened up be crowd.  Truly amazing how they took a very pop song and translated it to suit their unique music and performance style.  

I don't particularly know the tech terms for music and stage mumbo jumbo, but the balance of their vocals, guitars, and percussion were extremely well executed.  You could hear all aspects of the band clearly and appreciate everything the each individual brought to the stage. 

The sheer physical force of the actual performance was a tactile experience in itself.  Speakers that broadcast the plucking of strings, vibration of vocal chords, and striking of drums penetrated each person in the crowd.  Live music, when done right, is a whore that flits through the bodies of a mass and leaves everyone satiated. 

That awe and glow a person experiences after a good O is certainly comparable to what you'll experience once their set wrapped.  You're not quite sure what happened, but it was bloody good and you want more.  Hell, even your ears ring in both scenarios. 

Thanks, Our Last Night, for convincing me that live music is definitely a good good thing.  I can only hope that you, dear reader, will get an opportunity to listen to these fine folks live.  If you do attend one of their concerts, stick around and say hullo because they are extremely receptive and appreciative of their fans.

Definitely check out Our Last Night's YouTube channel, but for now enjoy their cover of Katy Perry's "Dark Horse."

Where Are You Going? Where Have You Been?

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Guest Post: Nony Series--First, a Totally Related Tangent

Note to Readers:  If you haven't started reading the Nony series from last Saturday's post, read it here before this one.  Although this post is titled First, a Totally Related Tangent there are still spoilers.  Be sure to read the first one.

Enjoy!

So why was I stalking her?

First, a Totally Related Tangent. (That might prove I'm not entirely crazy)

               Life is Suffering.

               I had a rough childhood.  I will gladly spare you as much of the whiny details as possible, and instead just gaily prance to the pearls of wisdom retained from so much "real world experience". Without much option, I naively turned to the military who decided Iraq would be the perfect place for me to resolve my adolescent issues. As you might imagine it didn't help all that much.

               Despite the waking nightmare that has been my life, I am the inevitable and well adjusted statistical anomaly you get from child abuse. Too frilly? In other words, nature abhors a vacuum, if 99.9 percent of children who are abused go insane, then it stands to reason that .01 will come out as well...

               I'll want you to decide for yourself as to what I am.

               I will tell you that at least in my own mind I feel that I am fabulously well adjusted, albeit darkly twisted in my sense of humor.

               But is there a fringe benefit to all my suffering?

               A sort of bullshit detector that makes my skin crawl such as when the President told Americans that the most important thing they could do to contribute in the War on Terror was, as I may paraphrase, "spend more money, and keep a close eye on your neighbor" at which point he cackled and exited stage left.

               Before I go much further on this tangent, you need to understand that I am a strict atheist and skeptic.

               I come from a family of Christian morons, whose idea of accountability was that personal responsibility was trumped by angels and demons.  Domestic violence caused by demonic possession?  Yeah, didn't buy into that either by the umpteenth time the back of his hand popped a welt on my sister's cheek.  Worse yet, I was raised in the ghetto that prescribes to exorcism attempts on my entirely sober father.  At that point in my childhood, I started to wise up.  My father's abuse paired with sobriety and distinct lack of demons belied an individual who was the epitome of a piece of shit.

               Nope, no need for personal responsibility, it's just the demons.

               That said... did anyone else notice that the "Five Pointed Star of David" on the Republican (GOP) Party's elephant mascot became inverted into a pentagram right about the time the War on Terror kicked off?

               As you may ask, what does all this have to do with stalking this woman?

               Well, I was stalking two men originally, two blokes I worked with in Iraq when I discovered they were stalking her. This caught my interest for a number of reasons.  Reasons that would make me wish retrospectively that I had stayed the fuck out of her business, but not really.

               Anyways, it was at this point I decided to thrust myself in her life. 

               For her own good.

               Opps.

---

 [SA1]Weave this throughout the story in later installments.

Clocks

Where this piece came from:  I hate time--well, at least the measured sort.  I hate how in the hustle and bustle we often glance at our cell phones or watches one, two, three times consecutively to even have the time register.  It belies our preoccupation of having to be wherever at a very specific whenever.  Frankly when one lives in the modern first world, it's hard to get away from the clock.  There will always be places to be and people to meet, but we have to remember the wise words of Simon and Garfunkle when we get in a time funk:

Slow down, you move too fast
You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feelin’ groovy
Ba da da da da da da, feelin’ groovy

A lot of people hate the mornings.  On my own, I'm a morning person.  I usually get up with the sun, but on some early shoot days I'm up as early as 4:30am.  But fuck it, as long as I plan I won't be rushed.  Hell, if I'm proactive enough I have sufficient time to wake and bake...muffins, of course. Winky blinky.

Just know, as hectic as life is, there is always time to look for fun and feel (as they say) groovy.

Enjoy "Clocks"

Clocks

How often do you check the time?

With places to be

People to see and date,

Ruminate for just one second how many moments were wasted

looking at your cell's face counting down until you're late.

Do you find yourself staring at the at the glaring red lines

waiting for :59 to bloom into zeroes that blare

declaring your booting out of bed?

Instead, forget the numbers

and enjoy your sleep.

Keep close the memories you make

and not the appointments that keep you up at night...

when really you should be focusing on holding your wife.

Third Installation to Danger Series: Hunger

Where did this piece come from:  I'm fucking starving right now.  As an individual who is very much driven by my stomach, hunger is a very dangerous thing.  For a long time I've been intrigued by the idea of the body's two hungers--the hunger for food and nourishment, and the hunger for sex, flesh, and human connection.  From seeing many folks fall into regret over eating too much cake and regret over the unnamed person in their bed, I thought it appropriate to play with this idea for the Danger series. 

There are two things I've realized in my life in regard to the two hungers:

1. Never go food shopping on an empty stomach because that leads to an empty wallet.
2. Never go to a swinger's club without having masturbated furiously before hand, so as to not let your standards dip too low because the itch is too damn strong.

Enjoy Danger (III)!

But wait?!  I haven't posted Danger (II)!  That's because it really isn't worth posting quite yet.  Keep an eye out down the road for it. 


Danger (III)

The most dangerous thing is hunger
When hunger consumes you
      your body and psyche is stretched out of proportions.

You order twelve pancakes when you can only eat three.
You sleep with a two when you deserve an eight.

So don't eat with your eyes
and don't think with your dick...

Unless you're that hungry.

TMI: Society's Curse of Too Much Information

Where this piece comes from:  Upon being asked to dinner, I found myself in an internal debate--to creep or not to creep?  This is the answer to that question.

TMI:  Society's Curse of Too Much Information

Through the act of creeping, it's very easy to get to know people through Facebook, blogs, Twitter, etc...  However, how true to reality is the information filed under "Five Things I Couldn't Live Without"?  I find social media and the internet a little off putting in regard to socializing.  

This isn't due to the content.  This isn't due to my hate of internet shorthand and text inundated with grammatical errors. But rather I hate how easily information about someone is available.  It kills the mystery of the individual.  Why get to know someone when all their thoughts, emotions, work history, and life is posted online on a web page?  As curious as that internet version of someone is, I'd much rather hear all that from you. 

Through cyber stalking socializing, almost everyone with internet can find out anyone's favorite sushi joint, turn offs, and what they were doing in 1982.  It turns me on to know that there are some folks that don't use Facebook, Twitter, or much anything social networky.  These individuals preserve the enigma of who they are, and can control who and what knows anything about them and their thoughts. 

Frankly, I wonder how the people who fall into celebrity cope.  With enough Googling, I'm sure we could find out James Franco's favorite flavor of ice cream.  With everything to know about this echelon of people available with a few strokes of the keyboard, what happens to the mystery of this lucky slice of the population? 

Socially speaking, shouldn't an individual be able to cling to the mystery of himself as any other human being does?  It blows that that facet of humanity is denied privacy by having every career move and sneeze documented.  Certainly, this awesome for fans.  It's different in the case of politicians, as they need to be scrutinized and made transparent.  However, those who fall into the light because of their talent to entertain a population...let them hold their personhood close and reveal as much or as little as they want. 

When everyone and anyone can know everything about you, what do you have left to share?  Perhaps you find yourself in awkward situations where the people you meet remember and know more about you than even you do.

You line up a particularly awesome anecdote to share with someone you're trying to get to know, and it anticlimactically is cut short with "Oh, I read that story already somewhere."  So much for sharing a piece of yourself when the internet has enabled another to do so already.  Although this has never happened to me personally because (let's be real) I'm very much a nobody, this situation falls within the realm of possibility for many others. 

I want to get to know you.  Not the perfectly aligned, triple spell checked Facebook statuses that still manage to have errors.  Fuck that.

Tell me the unedited, on the fly with good eye contact stories about yourself.  Gesticulate, inflect, waggle your eyebrows.  Let's unravel the mystery of who you are, who I am, and who the fuck anyone is in person.  It's better than spending hours scouring Facebook, Wikipedia, or IMDB to get to know someone. 

Tell me the story of you by you. 

Give it to me raw.

Live Long and Wank On

Where This Piece Came From:  Often times I close my cam show with something quippy.  The go-to one liner is "Live long and wank on".  This piece came about after really considering what that phrase meant to me and to those who consume porn.  I thought rather arduously about whether or not I would post this piece, as it is about pornography.  This blog is dedicated to creative nonfiction and I didn't want to bring any porn biz here.  However upon reading and rereading this piece, it's message needs to be posted.  So, enjoy Live Long and Wank On.

Live Long and Wank On

Porn is an amazing way of getting to know yourself and lose yourself at the same time.  Strange as it may sound, I remember enjoying pornography a lot more as a teenager than I do as an adult.  I believe that what we find sexy, especially in the case of fetishes, awakens through exposure.  Hell, I didn't realize I was attracted to women just as I'm attracted to men until I saw a pair of the rather sexualized and perky tits of Kate Winslet in Titanic when I was seven.  Although watching Jack draw her like one of his French girls wasn't explicitly pornography, it was explicitly adult content.  It was also, indubitably deposited into my spankbank. 

It's know that there is a great camp of men and women, probably mostly women, who rally against the usage and distribution of pornography; however, it's usage is a safe and private way to understand your own desires and kinks.  The knowledge and understanding of which can lead you to more honest and hopefully orgasmic experiences.

Now comes the tougher part of this conversation--the good, the bad, and the perverted outcomes to pornography usage.  And to be perfectly clear, the usage I'm commenting on is the stimulation of one's own meat stick or land clam--masturbation.  The good that may come out of using porn is for the individual release.  Physiological, psychological, and perhaps even emotional release.  That release may mandate the usage of socks, tissues, or vibrating devices, but it's positive.  Not only does orgasms make people happy, but oftentimes post-O folks have a radiant glow about them.  But how does the usage of porn benefit the overall population?  Other than multiplying the amount of sexually gratified people in the population, porn benefits the overall population by providing a sexual outlet to those how can't or don't want to have sex.  Frankly, people masturbate for a myriad of reasons.  All sorts of folks masturbate.  It doesn't matter if you're young, old, married, single, divorced, or a cat.  You have probably wanted to or have masturbated.  

It's funny because as a teenager I heard from all the parents that too many people are having sex.  As an adult, I look around and I see a lot of people not having sex.  A lot of those people are in my cam room.  And believe me,  most all of them want to, but can't for lack of social environment, time, or money.  Kidding on the last. 

Pornography is the oasis during a dry spell of sex.

Now for those who wank it to the more deviant of pornography.  And by this I mean pornography that falls at least one standard deviation from basic boy girl, d in the v stuff.  Let's pretend one standard deviation is anal, and two is DP, and three is a donkey show with tentacles.  It's a truth worth mentioning that everyone's palates varies.  Some may be perfectly content with vanilla boy girl porn with missionary and perhaps even a cream pie if you're feeling frisky.  But some may desire BDSM, SPH, group sex, bukkake, incest, or even 2-girls-1-cup caliber kink.  Many people may turn their noses away in disgust, but these folks have the kinks and desires they have. 

Why completely defame an entire industry, in which all parties are willingfully partaking in creating content that you or anyone can enjoy?  Why completely cast hate and disgust on those viewers of nastier porn?

Because masturbating is a goddamn right, and there is an entire industry founded on the expression of that right.  As long as someone has physical access to the skin flapping between their legs, they are able to deliver unto themselves waves of visceral pleasure.  The  honest truth of porn is that like anything that causes or inspires pleasure--it's an escape.  Just as video games, books, fantasy football, or Netflix can be an escape from stress, work, life, or anything of the sort.  Who is anyone to judge anyone else's desire to watch horribly rated content, be it a television show or a live streaming sexfest?  Limiting someone's choice in pornography would be the equivalent of limiting someone's lurid imagination.  Just because their isn't porn of an athletic Asian doing squats in athletic, though crotchless shorts, doesn't mean you're not going to now imagine it and not touch yourself.

In regard to the perverted outcomes of the usage of pornography, those who judge need to ask themselves a question:  Who is anyone hurting by masturbating cumming for the umpteenth time alone in a closed environment to whatever content suits his or her fancy?  You'll realize that no one is being harmed by masturbation.  If you're a spouse, girl friend, boy friend, or partner of someone and you find yourself repulsed or betrayed by your partner masturbating to porn, fuck you.

How dare you try to control every fantastical thought any individual may have?  I often fantasize about eating ice cream while eating cake.  Does that mean I love cake less?  Fuck no. 

It's really none of anyone's business as to what anyone else is masturbating to.  It's all personal choice. So I say to you, as I often say to close my cam room...

Live long and wank on.

We Are Millennials and We Are Fucked

Note to the Readers:  I promise I'll eventually write positive pieces, but for now my focus is on real shit.  Throughout my years writing for fun, I've found it easier to relay a message through the darker shades of reality. 



We Are Millennials and We Are Fucked

I'm a child of the 90's.  The bar for education, success, and being unique was set high.  We were told that we were all special.  By having that label thrust upon us like ice cream pressed onto a lactose intolerant bulimic, we had a need to be special.  Because of this need we deem it fit to bumpersticker, tag, and hashtag to set ourselves apart meanwhilst categorizing ourselves further and farther.  The music our youths is the angsty, yet kitschy pop stylings of I'm different; I'm a nerd; I'm a hipster with a chorus of No one understands me. 

Our printed media--such as magazines--are rife with advice on how to live your life.  Glossy guides of How to navigate life without exploring outside of the socially accepted deviations of behavior for dummies.  You can be unique, but not so unique as to shatter politically correct and prescribed labels.  We try at something that comes to us naturally, being different is a inherent given.  We lose ourselves by imitating what the world is projecting we should be. 

We drown in sea of media minutia mired in sexual active and mature pseudo-models of reality.  We were going through puberty while TV teens were played by some approaching the mid-life crises.  From this messages were mixed and standards were perverted.  No wonder so many of us grew up styling ourselves as 13 going on a slutty 30.  The media spat out our get--The Millennials.

Why Language is so Fucking Sexy

Today, I'm not posting a short creative writing piece for your folks, but rather explaining a particular fetish of mine.  Socially, sexually, and intellectually, I absolutely crave gentlemen and ladies who wield language like Zorro's sword.  Being able to splice together smooth sounding sentences to articulate a succinct yet sublime thought makes the panties drop. 

Weavers of worlds from words, also known as, great story-tellers are on my list of mind/body boner inducing "tropes".  These gents know how to bring sequence of events together in a captivating and intriguing way.  Plot points are hit like the hi-hat in an upbeat jazz jam.  Gesticulations marry with articulations and enunciations of setting, dialoague, and enrapturous narrative.  These gents are unafraid to play with their voice and visage during a tale.  They may be usually very quiet, unassuming, and outwardly not the type.  But perhaps these modern day bards might surprise the right crowd. 

This may be a gross assumption, but I don't believe the vast majority of the adult population writes recreationally or professionally.  The majority of jobs held don't exactly require great writing or language skills.  Certainly, national language reading comprehension may be necessary for the day to day.  Yet, I highly doubt that a great majority of adults take the time to sit and write the complexities of their personal thoughts day to day.  Surely, they may speak to a friend, partner, or spouse about how their day went and comment about current news.  But how frequently do they think of the world at large, humanity, morality, and other tenuous ideas that float in the minutia of daydreams and write or speak about it?  How frequently do you?

The majority of the population probably doesn't explicitly recognize the usage of alliteration, simile, metaphor, and other facets of the language.  I believe that most all folks recognize the beautiful and horrible usages of language and are able to differentiate.  Being able to identify those modes of rhetoric and figurative language may definitely enhance someone's usage and application of language.  Ergo making them deliciously and intelligently attractive.

As comedically golden as a perfectly executed pick-up line may be, it doesn't quite equate to what I call an eavesdropping erection.  This is purely an intellectual arousal because I get turned on by the speech and not the looks.  This has happened to me in restaurants, bars, airports, and wherever people generally have conversations.  When I hear someone say something like-minded and in a way that is very sexily articulated, my interest is indeed piqued.  It makes me want to listen to that person more.  Note that the name eavesdropping erection really reveals how little human interaction I have in real life.  Curiouser and curiouser.

Hope you enjoyed the spiel.  I promise to write tomorrow evening after the shoot.

Love,
Hermia

Meatsack

What Inspired This Piece:  Oddly enough, I have Twitter to thank for this piece.  Someone was curious about my strange euphemism for the body.  I usually refer to the human body as a meatsack.  Meatsack--for the visceral imagery, and acknowledgement of human fragility.

Meatsack

Meatsack.  That is the appropriate and adequate term I prefer when talking about the human body.  Forget things like maintaining 34-26-36 measurements and consuming delicious slices of cake.  This thing that I'm in, that you're in, and that all human beings have is quite simply a meatsack.

It may be hard to think of it that way especially nowadays, and particularly in the first world.  Outside of surgery, we never really see our insides on the outside in the day-to-day.  However, imagine living in a place in which bombs rain from the sky more frequently than precipitation... The day to day just may then have many more insides on the outside. 

That sort of environment doesn't let its population forget the fragility of the human body.  Also, by extension the fragility of the human condition.

In this day and age we are sunk into a world obsessed with the outward appearance of the body.  Beautification, plastic surgery, make up, chic high-fashion--all facets of the same obsession with the aesthetic.  We are paying more attention to the aesthetics, meanwhile we forget the viscera, the fragility, and the strength of the human body.  We wrap ourselves up in kempt clothes, and perfectly coiffed hair to distance ourselves from the nudity of being an animal.  We are civilized.  We are dressed.  We are forgetting the capabilities our bodies have.

The vast majority of the population probably doesn't regularly exercise and maintain a proportionate height to body fat percent ratio.  The standards of aesthetics are high.  Few genetically lucky and hard working individuals ever achieve this, and so whoever remains may slip into obesity.  When pushed and trained and well maintained, the human body is capable of animal feats.  Surprising, when we belong to Kingdom Animalia.  

As awesome as the power the human body may have to harness, there still is the fact that human life is just too easily snuffed out.  A hairline fracture could eventually lead to a brain aneurysm.  A trip to the dentist could be the catalyst to a deathly infection.  A papercut may evolve into a CDC nightmare.  Our bodies and the mechanisms within them are susceptible to an endless list of diseases.  Single celled organisms can easily snuff out swathes of humanity. 

Although there is often great uproar from the concerned and squeamish about violence portrayed in media, there is an upside.  It reminds humanity of how delicate and easily stabable, shootable, burnable, assaultable the human body is.  We've seen it in grisley YouTube videos, documentaries on genocides, and perhaps unluckily in the real world.  We are but pieces of so much meat to carry us through are awesome lives.

Don't suddenly turn agoraphobic and shutter yourself into your 1 BD/1 BTH, but rather accept and acknowledge it.  Protect your body by honing it into a sinewy machine.  Nourish it--And by God, carry it with dignity and some awareness. 

I am above all things...A Hypocrite

As pessimistic as I may be, hidden somewhere deep is a kid who is an optimist.  

It's important to know when to jump perspectives and be grateful.

Thank You, Norton Anthologies

I have been rather rude. 

I've stumbled into this preoccupation or hobby called blogging.  Because of the Internet I'm literally connection to the entire world. 

Now we, whomever ends up reading this and whomever I end up reading, following, friending, etc..., are part of a community.  And this is where I get to the point of this blog.

I'm obsessed with sharing stories. The Bard trope is my favorite.  Through stories we can empathize, laugh, cry, curse, and learn together.  Another reason why I love stories is because I'm an English nut with a raging creative erection.  How else would I weave my love of story telling and the manipulation of the English language together?

A blog was the perfect answer.

So this is my space for you folks out there who feel as any human feels. 

I'm going to ramble and say things like "Sorry, this story is about dead babies," and "Yes, I love furry things like the retard from Of Mice and Men," but it's for you guys.

Find entertainment, boredom, love, hate, stalker tendencies, and strange fictional righteousness boners in my stories.  My only goal is to create some emotional experience in the fellow meatbags of the world. 

However, please bear with me those who don't like the following and ever growing list of potentially annoying English major mannerisms:

·       Stream of consciousness writing

·       Tangents

·       Experimentation with language

·       Inconsistency with Grammar because I'm human

·       Poetry

·       Usage of literary elements, rhetoric, satire, and your mother

The list could go on for a while.  My love for the English language is not a love so much as an obsession. 

The human experience is amazing from an observer's and artist's perspective.  And from that an infinite amount of realities are borne from raw sensory data of the world around you.  

Realities that exist in Family Guyesque tangents.  Slivers of comedy, drama, horror coloring your day in day-dreamed thoughts. 

Take these seeds of potential and nuture them into this--a blog.

I hope you guys enjoy this joy ride as much as I may.  Analyze that fellow English nerds!

Love,

Mia Hermia