Saturday, June 28, 2003

Now with sober commentary!

I know that I promised, but...

This being a Friday evening, I was inclined to go bowling with some friends. Now I've been bowling enough to understand that it takes some degree of skill and almost no degree of athleticism to excel in. But this time was different. I learned of the Beer Frame. The Beer Frame is where each bowler makes a strike except for one. That one bowler must hen buy drinks for all the rest.
Hen they didn't even card me.

There, that's your exposition.

Now it is five in the morning and I have dank pitchers of beer, smoked many parliement lights, and dove off of many a roof. Into a pool, of course.
How do you spell "drank" and "parliament"? The lame correct way, I'm sure.

Curse being 21. I still cannot handle such freedom.
I meant "fredom."

Well, let us type then unceasingly and see what comes of it. The worst that happens is that I edit it a bit and try to pass off with a shred of dignity. I doubt that will happen.
Now I seem to be two people...

My dreams torment me. I don't know why exactly. For example:
Did I just say that I don't know why and then say why?

I dreamed that my younger brother Donaldo arrived home from being in Iraq. In my dream, I looked him in the eyes. I put my hand on his face, and I grabbed his shoulders and shook him to convince myself that he was real. And I was convinced. Then, as happens in most dreams, I woke up.
I didn't have any superpowers anymore, either.

I have been wounded tonight. I am bruised, scratched and scraped. I'll live. And it is worth it.
I jumped off of Scotty's roof into his pool. It took me several tries to climb up.

I enjoyh myself in this state. Regret is a luxury I do not have time for.

Dammit, when you feel the flame of passion and you can not raise a spark TV showin their heart...utter defeat.
Now this is the most confusing line here to me. I think I was composing a song about a video camera with a dead battery. That or it's about impotence

I think I can make this the last time. Drinking to this point, that is. Hell, I can not drink altogether, see if I cAN'T. her I go. I should be a reality show. Then I can edit myself out of every shot and probably have a hit.
At this point a brass band started playing, people began applauding, confetti rained down, and I raised my glass in a toast to commemorate the one thousandth time I said I wouldn't get this drunk again.

Happy Deathday!
You will die on:Thursday, August 7, 2031
You will die of:Fall from Great Height
Created by Quill

And thanks to Trevor I can see that I will probably not learn my lesson and stop clambering onto other people's rooftops. Nor will I stop being an alcoholic, because it will happen on a Thursday, not even a weekend.

Friday, June 27, 2003

English 101

navonoodle: Oh yeah, just a note, and this is just my humble opinion, but the word "conjectures" on your blog sounds a little pretentious :)

AlwaysEphemeral: You may be right about "conjectures". But it is tough finding a suitable word that becomes plural with just adding an "S".
AlwaysEphemeral: Wait, I am pretentious!
AlwaysEphemeral: And I swear Jay-Z used it in a rap.
AlwaysEphemeral: Hell, maybe I'll just buy a thesaurus.

navonoodle: hehe
navonoodle: Entry Word: conjecture
Function: noun
Text: Synonyms THEORY 2, perhaps, speculation, suppose, supposition
Antonyms fact

AlwaysEphemeral: I know, I looked it up.

navonoodle: Speculations? hah

AlwaysEphemeral: Because I could be lying, you don't know.
AlwaysEphemeral: Unless you were there, of course...
AlwaysEphemeral: then you could blow my entire cover.
AlwaysEphemeral: You know too much, Donovan.

The moral of the story is: 'Tis better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to start a blog and remove all doubt.

Or you could just spill an entire grande hot chai in front of a bunch of cute girls. That's a great way to look foolish, too.

Tuesday, June 24, 2003

It was something less of an inferno this morning as ran up South Mountain. I was only mostly blinded by the sweat that mingled with the dust and then oozed into my eyes. My ankle was hardly twisted as I leapt up the rocks. My lungs burned. I may have forgotten about the cigarettes I smoked last weekend, but they had not. But then I came upon an area where thousands of years of water had carved a half-bowl into the rock. It was here, with hands clenched into fists and arms outstretched, that I ran along the curve pretending to be The Hulk. It is even more fun running down the mountain, because then I can bound from rock to rock, letting my momentum carry me down the path and hope that it doesn't carry me right over the edge.

I'm not a big Hulk fan. And after seeing the movie, this is still true.

But it does look like fun.