:: Porkchop Serum ::

:: Saturday, June 28, 2003 ::

This new formatting in the posting dimension is interesting. At least it looks better.

Instant revenge in the event of molestation would definitely feel wonderful. Some poor sap begging for mercy as you land blow after blow on his face. But on the flip side, there is something quite subtle and grand about the lengthy and complete US criminal justice system. Sean perhaps knows the sequence better than I, but each visit from a lawyer and each hearing before a judge and each mention in the press and each call from a disappointed and sullen family member would be like a clean, swift, slice with a nice sharp straight edge. "Molester". "Pervert". "Rapist". Each word like a dash of isopropyl or a lick of a flame. Slow torture leaving him bloody and rotten, awaiting fiendish cell mates and CO's with daughters and extremely solid nightsticks. But thats probably in the fictional world rather than the real.

Policemen and women receive our trust unconditionally and unquestionably. When one violates that trust, not with something self-destructive like using illegal drugs on the job, taking bribes or something ho-hum like that, but rather uses their position and authority to satisfy their own evil desires, who is qualified to devise the perfect revenge? I'll start with my idea. A surgical procedure to deaden all the nerves in his nether-region. Enjoy!

:: sandy 12:24 AM [+] ::
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I agree with Sean about work, Matt. Please, do what you need to do and FUCK this guy over. After reading the latest news about how Police officers were taking advantage sexually of volunteer Boy and Girl Scouts, these social miscreants need to be exposed and pummeled publically.

Matt, would you consider your kids to be butterflies still? Sounds like a good lot of these poor kids have already had their wings handled or damaged. What are their chances for being brought back up to flying condition?

:: sandy 2:05 PM [+] ::
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Oh no doubt, my brotha, that people's tastes for art are as varied as the lengths of Matt's chin hairs. But my overall point is that convention and structure do not a good story make. If you lean too heavily on the format side of the writing, it's going to read like tax code and conversely, it'll read like someone with a short attention span and a large supply of drugs. Hmmm. No comment. Of course, I make all these assertions as if I had any practical experience beyond the blog. Take it for what it's worth.

Matt, you better make time for the PS or else you're going to find yourself with a lot of catching up to do. Sean and I are off and running, COCK!

:: sandy 1:55 PM [+] ::
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The radio was now static from left to right. Giggling deejays faded into an aural rainstorm and frustrated, I slammed my fist down and through the dashboard, shattering the glass protecting the instruments..

"FUUUUCKK YOU!!!" and with that regal battle cry i stomped the accelerator to the floor. My foot felt comfortable so I left it there. Every joint in the truck was now singing a staccato opera complementing the roar of eight american cylinders.

"This SUCKS and you all sssuuUCCKKKKKOOOH SHHIIIITTTTTT"

Cresting a tremendous dune at 75 miles an hour I pushed myself deep into the vinyl bench seat, as if I could somehow protect myself from the impending disaster. My screams plus the howling of the engine had left but one thought in my mind. The massive desert sun splashed down like hot lava as the trucks back wheels finally released the earth. Scared out of my frickin mind, my foot stayed firmly pressed to the floor so at the peak of my majestic trajectory above the cacti and amused iguanas, the engine exploded. And just like that, silence. Well, not total silence... there was the wind. Like a stupid little baby, I stopped screaming and became transfixed on the rain of metal fragments blossoming out from the engine bay.

"cool!", I whispered. The sun was wicked bright. I closed my eyes.

:: sandy 10:04 AM [+] ::
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Movie Recommendation: Manhunter (1987). The original Thomas Harris/Hannibal Lecktor movie. Based on Red Dragon. Directed by Michael Mann (Miami Vice, Heat) Great movie. Get it.

:: sandy 9:13 AM [+] ::
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Sean I agree... to a point. Serious writing, i.e. professional novelists, are required to infuse a great deal of discipline and structure into what ultimately is an "art" and when done well, appears to the outside as the kind of effortless, free form, emotional outpouring as the word "art" seems to convey. But still, you can't create something truly unique from some sort of recipe or formula. Your writer mind might resemble a towering steel and glass skyscraper of efficiency and order but somewhere, down in the basement, on floor 0 is a big roiling, bubbling mass of randomness and images. I can actually hear Sean getting annoyed thinking i'm lecturing to him about writing.. not the case my fine feathered faggot.
I think what you're saying is that without a foundation in basics, a writer or sculptor has nothing to build upon and hard as he or she may try, they're still going to end up with a pile of clay or story that goes nowhere. Makes me think of basketball. Every player in the NBA possesses a fundamental understanding of the basic rules of the game. That doesn't mean that everyone plays the same.

After all that: What do you mean by common norms? Writing structure? Common Plots? Common Characters? sounds exciting. I suppose it might be difficult to exit off the archetypal highway but wouldnt that be the ultimate goal for a writer? To write about something no one has seen or thought of before?

Agony Spike. that is a fucking great band name.

One thing that will kill the blog. Whining about how your blog posts suck. One question, Matt: Would separating the kids by gender to prevent the "extreme fraternization" that you described be more harmful than helpful? One other thing, Matt: Resist Sean!! Beware the Sentient Yellows!!

:: sandy 9:03 AM [+] ::
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