Author has written 233 stories for General, General, Humor, Life, and Love.
To gather what it is on which I base my writing would be something to the effect of the impossible. Not that it is terribly impossible to do so, I just don't think anyone can. I hope that doesn't sound egotistical, pig-headed, or just down right "tooting-my-own-horn"ish. To be quite honest, I range from depressing to rather off the wall bizzare and don't really quite understand myself when I try to think of a response to the simple question of, "Hey," despite the fact that it's not a question.
Take mould for example. No one really understands where my interest in mould comes from, not that I'm even all that interested in it. To be honest again, I quite dislike the stuff. My point is that there's no telling why I bothered to mention mould, as if it were an intrical part of our everyday societal workings. And even though it is, since it eventually grows on everything that was at one time alive, it is still something that we choose not to think about. Perhaps that's why I mentioned it, since I too am like that sometimes. Just think of me as mould!
No, wait, that's not good. Some might call that a bad impression. Okay, don't think of me as mould, but think of me as something like it in that I grow on things that could be said to have at one time been alive.
Dang, another bad impression. Well I seem to have not just dug myself into a rather deep hole, but I'm filling the dirt back in on myself. How about I try another way of putting all this:
I am insane.
How's that for summing it all up? I suppose by this point, provided you're still reading this or even that you can read this, you would have surmised that already, but in case you missed it, there you go.
Reading my work is a job for a gorilla with nothing better to do than scratch my back with an oak twig that it found on the ground under a maple tree while reading childrens stories to a gathering of emus on their way to Hollywood to star in a new movie called "Me and my Emu" starring a bunch of no-name actors from Tibet...but you can read them too if you want. That is to say that by reading them, you don't become said gorilla with all that other gobble-dee-gook, but you do see what I mean.
My more recent pieces of writing have been mainly poetry, all of which are depressing. But then, that's not terribly surprising; slap a goofy grin on a bucket of sadness, and you would have something that looks a little like me...only, without the bucket part...forget the bucket part! It's like the mould thing!
More about me? I'm 26 and I used to, but no longer attend classes at Trent University. I am Canadian, born and raised. I currently live in Mississauga, Ontario, but if I had a job there I'd move back to Peterborough, where Trent University is. I used to like throwing cards into a recycling bin for fun, and when I had my door open, people in the hallways give me funny looks...but not because of the cards and the recycling bin. That was back when I lived in residance, but now I live in Mississauga, where there's jackall to do if you haven't got a car.The youth of our fair citywould bepretty much screwed if it wern't for the public transit system. Even then, the ride is so long you just might cack on your way anywhere. I'mnot exactlysure why, but it might have something to do with the mould...oh wait, crap! I didn't say that... anyway, I'm just kidding about the mould...or am I? Muahahahahahahaha!
Anyway, I'm a very sad, pathetic, lonely man and I should probably be shot (a couple of times... or poked with a really dull knife for a couple of hours), but I make do with my time; so, whether it's amazingly well written or just a bunch of scribbled dribble that should have been burned a long time ago, let me know what you think of my writing, I don't really care. However, everyone likes it when they're told that their writing has had an affect on someone else's life, even if it is falsly given praise...hint, hint.
Now, back on the subject of mould, I think I need a new jell-o mould...in fact, I don't have one to begin with, so there must be something amiss there. Sometimes I like to mould gum into the shape of the top of my mouth by pressing it up with my tongue. It's quite thrilling when I'm bored... or, maybe not...just maybe. I think there's some mould growing on my leg, but that might just be hair... in fact, it's gum shaped like the roof of my mouth... I guess it's mould after all.
On a lighter note, I think I've started sparatically changing from sane to insane at random points of time. It's loads of fun; I highly recomend it for parties. Did you know that I have a giraffe? It's not growing mould, but it sometimes likes to eat it. Up above a ways, up in all that dribble you've been reading, I suggested that you might think of me as a bucket. Well, not a bucket, but a bucket of sadness. And not just that, but a bucket with a goofy grin slapped on the side...filled then with sadness.Yeah, I think that's how it goes. Now, if you take that bucket and stick it on the head of a teddy-bear, you'd probably be closer to having something like me...metaphorically speaking,of course. My giraffe agrees.
Far from growing mould, my absolute favourite band is the Icelandic group, Sigur Rós, as if anyone actually cares. I'm now going to rant about them for a bit 'cause I feel that people don't do it enough... or at all, in fact (err!!). Their music defies definition as anything but "amazing," thoughsome try to pass it off as mere rock. Sadly, however, the rock music industry is rapidly growing mould, and I'll be damned if I admit that Sigur Rós performs rock. Sure, they use guitars...and drums...and whatnot...and some of their music does have a rock-ish sound...but that's only because they have managed to surpass rock music altogether! They are like a stage of evolution for the genre and I very much like the direction they're going in. My giraffe agrees... again...
Okay, I admit it, I don't have a giraffe.
If you want to know which is my favorite piece below, it's my story "A Sparrow in the Lion's Den." I think it's one of my most powerfully vivid and disturbing stories. After that is "In Silence," "Sleepless With Some Cattle," "The Faint Murmer of a Beating Heart," "The Sound of Leaves Falling," and "Carried in the Wind." If you read only one thing more of my writing, I suggest it be one of those. Obviously I'm not too fond of my poetry, since that's what this list is mostly comprised of. If I had to choose some of the poetry to recommend, it would be my newest entrys as well as "Misery," and "Time Ticking." I can't really remember the whole list at this time, so there may be others, but for now that'll have to do.
Lastly, I'd like to quote Mork and Mindy by saying, "No matter how strange or bizarre you are, there'll always be someone who'll love you for it."
So please enjoy my writing, drop me a line sometime, and be sure to check out left field, since that's where most of this stuff came from.
Oh, one last thing: If anyone asks, I've gone to find myself. Now, if I return before I get back, just ask the giraffe to keep an eye on me. It has to be the giraffe, though, since if anyone else is to look upon me, I fear I'll grow mould. And not even the pleasant green life-saving kinda mould either; something worse...much...much worse...shudders
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