Finished at last... now only four more semesters to go and then I am free! FREE! FREE! I tell you... oh wait, grad school. Piss.
Get to put the finishing touches on my stories tonight, because creative writing finals rock and we will be having a luncheon, while I get tore up on some PBR or 40s (choices choices choices) at my Professor's house. Sheer unadulterated brilliance. Hmm, I can't spell. I think. I don't know. I got nothing, really. 80+ pages of rambling sub idiotic genius will warm the cockels and sub-cockel area of my Professors heart all through this freezing, cold as fuck winter. Ice and me are not friends.
But on a good note, I'm getting drunk with my friend to celebrate her graduation and release for this institutional hell-hole we have been trapped in. I cry.
On a more sad note... my scheme to breed camel spiders (aka wind scorpions) will never come to fruition. My housemates don't want me having huge ass arachnid things wandering about the house... plus I'm sure that they will be killed in the cold. So I must wait and plot and soon I will have a fast moving horde of gargantuan eight-legged beasties at my beck and call. P I M P y'all. Not really, it's a rather stupid idea. Never work at all, logistically and all. But its good to have goals and dreams. Now, I wish I could run my car off of hopes and dreams.
Would anybody care read some of my work and offer me advice on my writing? If anybody out there actually reads this?
I'm going back to my hole.
Get to put the finishing touches on my stories tonight, because creative writing finals rock and we will be having a luncheon, while I get tore up on some PBR or 40s (choices choices choices) at my Professor's house. Sheer unadulterated brilliance. Hmm, I can't spell. I think. I don't know. I got nothing, really. 80+ pages of rambling sub idiotic genius will warm the cockels and sub-cockel area of my Professors heart all through this freezing, cold as fuck winter. Ice and me are not friends.
But on a good note, I'm getting drunk with my friend to celebrate her graduation and release for this institutional hell-hole we have been trapped in. I cry.
On a more sad note... my scheme to breed camel spiders (aka wind scorpions) will never come to fruition. My housemates don't want me having huge ass arachnid things wandering about the house... plus I'm sure that they will be killed in the cold. So I must wait and plot and soon I will have a fast moving horde of gargantuan eight-legged beasties at my beck and call. P I M P y'all. Not really, it's a rather stupid idea. Never work at all, logistically and all. But its good to have goals and dreams. Now, I wish I could run my car off of hopes and dreams.
Would anybody care read some of my work and offer me advice on my writing? If anybody out there actually reads this?
I'm going back to my hole.
your comments on my poetry were actually quite astute; you chose my favorite lines.
i'm thinking of the naropa institute writing program in boulder. you know anything about it?