Jabberwocky Rising
Nov 19, 2011 14:55:37 GMT -5
Post by Ellison Eisenstein on Nov 19, 2011 14:55:37 GMT -5
I hate books. I hate typing. I hate paintings. I hate this journal. I sound like a terrible guy. I need to lighten up. I need to take some perspective. I need to get a grip. I need to take a deep breath and come back to write this with a better demeanor. I need to delete this first paragraph. It’s at this moment, as I’m restarting the introduction to my journal to the audience which is myself, that I realize just how nervous I am here at Hammel.
In its defense, as I am its prosecutor and defense attorney at the same time, I do like the library. It’s quiet, filled with books and it has that special color in the carpet that bleeds out a nice quiet security up to my brain. But this is just a library. Like any other, no different in sight or sound or anything. Don’t ask me if I tasted the pages. I’m not that stupid. Or desperate. I hope.
I saw some alien door to an alien world in the back. It said Eli on it, and it told me he was the liberian. Or maybe it didn’t, and I’m probably making this all up, and you fell for it. Ok I had to get that off my chest because now that I think of Libraries and Liberians and this one named Eli, I didn’t ever want to tell the truth again.
And you see, if I'd made this clear for your optical nerves, that is why I hate this journal. Ok so it’s online, and if I get mad I can just delete it. It saves all the pages from diaries that I’ve torn apart, and I’m still satisfied. But since you ARE reading this, you’ve either cracked open my memories, or you’ve hacked my password, or some intricate combination of one of those with an unknown third option.
Ok so why I hate this journal. Every time I see a word, I force my neurons to read them normally. I would freak my friends out at school because I’d stare at them when they were reading. They couldn’t get that I was looking into their eyes to see if there was some hint as to the proper way of reading. So when I write a word, there’s so much static for my senses to process at one time it makes me go insane. I have great days, yeah, I do, but it’s not today. I can’t even go back to the brary, which I know I’m missing part of that word but if I think about it anymore I will seriously lie to everyone about everything I’ve ever done.
But the place I was at before was quiet, and I tried hard to read the books. To be totally honest, which would be nice in a place like that, after a while I don't think I'll be overreacting about everything. Addling isn't something liked doing, and while I like this place for its intentions, I have no intention to work on my abilities. What I do intend is to live a life that has some semblance of normality.
At least that's what I think I want. I still hate this journal, but I guess I can keep it going for a bit longer. Or something. Whatever. Oh and I love this type face. Ok so I don't hate it so much get off my back.
In its defense, as I am its prosecutor and defense attorney at the same time, I do like the library. It’s quiet, filled with books and it has that special color in the carpet that bleeds out a nice quiet security up to my brain. But this is just a library. Like any other, no different in sight or sound or anything. Don’t ask me if I tasted the pages. I’m not that stupid. Or desperate. I hope.
I saw some alien door to an alien world in the back. It said Eli on it, and it told me he was the liberian. Or maybe it didn’t, and I’m probably making this all up, and you fell for it. Ok I had to get that off my chest because now that I think of Libraries and Liberians and this one named Eli, I didn’t ever want to tell the truth again.
And you see, if I'd made this clear for your optical nerves, that is why I hate this journal. Ok so it’s online, and if I get mad I can just delete it. It saves all the pages from diaries that I’ve torn apart, and I’m still satisfied. But since you ARE reading this, you’ve either cracked open my memories, or you’ve hacked my password, or some intricate combination of one of those with an unknown third option.
Ok so why I hate this journal. Every time I see a word, I force my neurons to read them normally. I would freak my friends out at school because I’d stare at them when they were reading. They couldn’t get that I was looking into their eyes to see if there was some hint as to the proper way of reading. So when I write a word, there’s so much static for my senses to process at one time it makes me go insane. I have great days, yeah, I do, but it’s not today. I can’t even go back to the brary, which I know I’m missing part of that word but if I think about it anymore I will seriously lie to everyone about everything I’ve ever done.
But the place I was at before was quiet, and I tried hard to read the books. To be totally honest, which would be nice in a place like that, after a while I don't think I'll be overreacting about everything. Addling isn't something liked doing, and while I like this place for its intentions, I have no intention to work on my abilities. What I do intend is to live a life that has some semblance of normality.
At least that's what I think I want. I still hate this journal, but I guess I can keep it going for a bit longer. Or something. Whatever. Oh and I love this type face. Ok so I don't hate it so much get off my back.
