Bier de Stone ( wrote,
Bier de Stone

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Weepers never clean-up

Hello. This entry should be interesting. First off, I just want to say, I type fast (70 WPM), so come see me do my thing at branch 28. Say hello and I`ll try to convince my sensitive mouth to return the greeting. Don`t read into this. I`m very friendly and love meeting new faces. It`s just, today I went to Aquarium of the Pacific, by myself for those curious minds that want to know, and had the soup of the day. Not realizing how hot it was, I blistered the roof of my mouth. Ouch!

My tongue has been contemplating suicide by rubbing itself on the soar and rousing a sensation of licking a battery. BTW, I am reading a book for which I desire to develop a complex of the main character, Giambattista Bodoni. The book I`m reading is The mysterious flame of Queen Loana and I highly recommend it for comic book readers who are looking for some serious entertainment now that they`ve exhausted their tolerance of graphic novels. `nuf said on that I guess. It is enjoyable but the novel is going to take second place in my priority of interests as I diligently attempt to commit to memory the song Mean man on my guitar.

I could ramble, but my mind never takes into consideration the appropriatness of grammatically correct structure in composition. I mean, c`mon, 70 WPM on the keyboard would undoubtedly suffice for normal rate of speed of speech with some people. But I`m always pausing because I can`t find the correct word on the tip of my acidic-happy tongue.

I`m serous about wanting to be in the shoes of Giambattista. Recently, I have had a revelation to a major scene I`m working on that might make the screenplay I`m editing run more smoothly. Nobody likes to see a grown man pouting, the things I do for art, and yet, the other day my good friend Karen loaned me an ear (and a shoulder) regarding something I found very, very disturbing. I had been holding it in for a week before I finally cracked. My throat felt like it was collapsing, my frontal lobe feeling like I just collided into a wall, and my eyes glossing over.

Thank you Podcast. I found a show that I enjoy listening to, which I envy for the spur of the moment thought which it provokes, and half the time suspect I might be a prospective character wherein I sneeze louder than anybody else in the room, The zany Aguirres show .
I`ll be calling a couple acquaintences concerning this area of memory loss which Giambattista is depicted as having in the book. What I can`t be certain of, is whether or not I`ve already called without a trace of memory that I did so. I mean, with me, everything has a purpose. I don`t mean to be a nuissance, nor unfeeling, but I rarely call friends just to chat. I`m very conservative, very soft spoken, very quiet person. So, my call to a friend will serve the purpose of gaining info for something personal. Whether I`ve called with the same question, I do not remember.

As you all may have already suspected, I am thirty-something. To be reaching back in 'history' and announcing myself to someone I have not spoken with since high-school, is hebetude to my cause. I don`t seem to get on well with anybody I went to public school with, not to be mean, but bitterness from a broken heart has turned me into an [expletive] to some. BTW, I`ll be going to see the movie 40 year old virgin if anybody is interested in having popcorn with me. It`s my treat. So let`s hear what the rest of you have to say about the prospect of highschool sweethearts and the enormous gap that can, and very likely will, span a lifetime without so much as a hug upon crossing each other`s paths. My objective is in perspective now. Now that I`m feeling the harsh realities that time can torture a person into.
Tags: guts

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