Surrealist's journal.

Completely Woody Allen influenced.

Along with my tendency of latching my meat hooks into my fiance to the point of anxiety and screaming, comes a conscious effort to not look at woman the same way that I stare at my un-koshered breakfast frying in a pan. Maybe its because I learned the hard way to not cook bacon without a shirt.

There's always been an effort on my part to take what she is saying seriously. Maybe that's why a lot of her jokes go over my head, and are left hovering for an average duration of six seconds. By the time it registers to me that its humor, its too late to laugh and she's already embarrassed. However when I try to keep it light by bringing home a stolen helium tank (I mean, balloons are fun right?) my head typically lifts me up to the ceiling, and her serious tone's are sitting two feet below my mine, and I begin to complain about a sore neck.

Its always the same effort that gets me out of bed in the morning, or perhaps the smell of food. I told Cheyann two months ago that we should starting eating healthier, and as of last week we have been. I hope to have the money someday to pay a dietitian to tell me what to eat. Or maybe I should be hoping I'm poor enough to figure it out myself.

I heard from a neurotic Jew that the universe is expanding. This was my justification for why I don't need to do my math homework. The only real homework is interior decorating. I hope I have the money someday to pay someone to appropriately place the love seat for optimum sexual energy flow in the house. This, in turn, should solve my paranoia of her leaving me.

Perhaps my efforts should be for both our self indulgences. After all, when both our proverbial flames become one, whats good for me is good for her. Lets hope the living room doesn't burn down.

Story idea:
A lamp is reincarnated after it dies a grousome death due to a couple's break up. Along with some porcelain plates and the goldfish who just arrived yesterday from a consequential visit and some pseudo-masculinity at the county fair.
The hook:
The lamp was reincarnated as the goldfishes prematurely spawned eggs.

They say hope is the thing with feathers.
My aunt in Michigan believes that my grandpa came back after death as every cardinal shes sees out her kitchen window. Does this mean when each individually die, my grandpa is exponentially being scattered across the universe? And that I'm living a simultaneous life with an eagle? It would be odd considering I'm afraid of heights.

Author's Note

Yeah...make of it what you will.

Reviews

[roarke]

Good surrealism. Woody Allen? meh. He wrote on of the funniest movies, "What's up Tiger Lily" a parody on foreign film over dubbed voices... and the most depressing movie I ever watched, "Interiors" after watching it I was so suffocated by depression I wanted to end it all. The cinematography was astounding on that film. But all his other 'stuff' had great concepts but no endings.... does everything need an ending? dunno, but with comedy, it helps to know when to stop laughing.

This is some of your best writing David. Especially the first two paragraphs. Nice work.