Fried Eggs
My head is really feeling screwed on backwards today so I am writing down random jotations no I did not misspell—this is what my brain considers language now. I’m writing these down to jog my language centers.
Jotations:
I was wondering why so many straight male actors are cast to portray forlorn gay lovers and I realized I was answering my own question. What’s hotter than the forbidden; what is more forlorn than a straight guy.
In the version of the world where no one gets a name wrong, we do not congratulate ourselves.
Third person is the least tense mode of observation.
Universal observations command as much authority as universalism is disenfranchising.
Even to wonder what people have made of themselves after an interlude, is a science fiction because the story began without you. It ends without you. Hold my heart with your hands, I said. Poetry should be fantasy.
Even music that feels like it should be described as “bad” can help improve a mood but hearing one song repeatedly could kill me. And I also wonder: why does Christian rock sound like it’s been recorded exactly the same way contemporary composition (experimental instrumental) has, which is to say, too clear. God can hear a pin drop.
I am being punished for all the sin I’ve committed in my life, but mostly for lying to myself and everybody around me. Also, for having unkind thoughts about people around the clock. Yeah, I was so mean in my head. It is a battle to stay nice. Maybe I’m a straight man meant to portray a gay one in a movie.
[Insert a lot of Japanese gibberish to make sure I still know how to write kanji in particular. How long did you say you were in JET? Because I don’t care.]