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Thread: Primal Journal - Knifegill page 6

  1. #51
    JoanieL's Avatar
    JoanieL is offline Senior Member
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    For me, the best way to limit cheese is to eat only the snootiest, expensive stuff. Paying $15-$25/lb keeps me in check.
    "Right is right, even if no one is doing it; wrong is wrong, even if everyone is doing it." - St. Augustine

    B*tch-lite

  2. #52
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    Knifegill is online now Senior Member
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    Haven't "written" in a very long time. Warming up, here.

    To wander forth into the desert, obedient to madman prophecies and incoherent rock lyrics, in a terminal and glorious end game - that was always how I penned the end of my own story. But then you get out there and start talking to lizards, realize you're just really darn thirsty and forget to die, going back to the city to ingest chlorine, fluoride and prozac-laden "water". It is in the attempt to escape one realizes there is no such thing.

    Today I woke up with earplugs in, my wife poking me and asking how long the alarm had been going off. Like I'm supposed to know, I've been sleeping! Hobbled to the bathroom with my neck stiff and immobile, apparently I'm depleted of electrlytes again as I can feel my skin flat and light, sort of dry like when you drink too much green tea. Picked up diarrhea, perhaps courtesy of a patient's throat discharging its aerosol spittle into my face while both hands were enslaved by the corporation who gives me fake money for moving my molecules from place to place in a way that pleases them. So now I have the runs a bit, and know what to do. First, a full bar of Theo spicy chili chocolate. Next, a steamy pot of magic brown bean juice, wherein I make a show for myself of using a few less beans and only filling the pot to 7 instead of 8, that I might think highly of myself for using restraint and not drinking the usual excessive amount. I simultaneously enjoy ingesting large volumes of fluid and wondering whether or not these old kidneys can take it for long. Attempts to change are futile. I will always ingest large amounts of fluid. This now eliminates the stiffness in my neck, and I'm stitched together and ready for another 10-hour whore-a-thon where I fulfill my robotic duty as blood collector.

    The drive to work is uneventful. Windows rolled down, Systom of a Down sing-a-long time goes well. Someone has put a note on my work aquarium in the break room, which reads "There's a fish in here." The tank has been there for two months. How attached have people become to ther magic phones that they don't even notice fish tanks anymore? I'm ashamed of my culture, and often refuse to be associated with it.
    Last edited by Knifegill; 05-26-2013 at 10:48 PM.


    Turquoisepassion:
    Knifegill is christened to be high carb now!
    notontherug:
    the buttstuff...never interested.
    He gives me Lamprey Kisses in the midnight sea
    Flubby tubby gums latching onto me
    For all that I've done wrong, I mastodon something right...

    My pony picture thread http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread82786.html

  3. #53
    Knifegill's Avatar
    Knifegill is online now Senior Member
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    When I yawn, sometimes it feels like I've pulled a tooth muscle. Then I think about it, and realize my teeth have no muscles at their base. So what did I pull? Do I actually have vestigial snake-like muscles buried in my gums?


    Turquoisepassion:
    Knifegill is christened to be high carb now!
    notontherug:
    the buttstuff...never interested.
    He gives me Lamprey Kisses in the midnight sea
    Flubby tubby gums latching onto me
    For all that I've done wrong, I mastodon something right...

    My pony picture thread http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread82786.html

  4. #54
    Knifegill's Avatar
    Knifegill is online now Senior Member
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    Ever wonder 'bout what they're cookin'?
    Something, looks like a pie.
    A sly smile when they serve it up so easy
    Did you ever ask why?

    Where there is a dinner there is bound to be dessert
    Where there is dessert there is bound to be a burp
    Where there is a burpin' vomit's really gonna fly,
    You're gonna throw up and die, die, die
    You're gonna throw up and die.

    Ever wonder if that's really cooking?
    Is it hot right through?
    Did you check the temp in the middle?
    Nah, you're hungry, you know what to do.
    You know what to do, do, do


    Turquoisepassion:
    Knifegill is christened to be high carb now!
    notontherug:
    the buttstuff...never interested.
    He gives me Lamprey Kisses in the midnight sea
    Flubby tubby gums latching onto me
    For all that I've done wrong, I mastodon something right...

    My pony picture thread http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread82786.html

  5. #55
    diene's Avatar
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    Hey, hey! So I see that you've revived your journal. Don't worry, I can distinguish your voice from Derp's.

  6. #56
    Knifegill's Avatar
    Knifegill is online now Senior Member
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    Just a piece of carpet.

    I know I should ignore the desire to explore abstractions. As an adult, the experiences of an inanimate assembly of atoms should be of no interest to me. I should drive right on by, not wondering how many times it's been flipped over and spun around by passing trucks with their eddy currents. I shouldn't wonder how much its weight has increased as it has taken on oils and sand and other muck. But, in truth, I do. I want to know about the man who cut that piece of carpet, what kind of music he listens to, if he works hard or hardly works. I want to know whether it fell off of a carpet company truck or out of someone's garbage can. And I inherently have always believed that time is concrete, that we are simply scrolling along it, and so all locations of all particles in the universe are stored like snapshots for all time. As such, the story of that carpet could be told, could said files be retreived and compiled. I'm supposed to forget all of this, never speak of it again, and work silently until I die like a proper adult. But the roots run deep and I cannot kill these weeds, though I've grown more adept at trimming them. The story of that carpet flap is written in breathtaking clarity, etched in cosmic stone somewhere I'll never be. And I shouldn't care.

    Because it's just a piece of carpet.


    Turquoisepassion:
    Knifegill is christened to be high carb now!
    notontherug:
    the buttstuff...never interested.
    He gives me Lamprey Kisses in the midnight sea
    Flubby tubby gums latching onto me
    For all that I've done wrong, I mastodon something right...

    My pony picture thread http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread82786.html

  7. #57
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    Derpamix is offline Senior Member
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    Quote Originally Posted by Knifegill View Post
    Just a piece of carpet.

    I know I should ignore the desire to explore abstractions. As an adult, the experiences of an inanimate assembly of atoms should be of no interest to me. I should drive right on by, not wondering how many times it's been flipped over and spun around by passing trucks with their eddy currents. I shouldn't wonder how much its weight has increased as it has taken on oils and sand and other muck. But, in truth, I do. I want to know about the man who cut that piece of carpet, what kind of music he listens to, if he works hard or hardly works. I want to know whether it fell off of a carpet company truck or out of someone's garbage can. And I inherently have always believed that time is concrete, that we are simply scrolling along it, and so all locations of all particles in the universe are stored like snapshots for all time. As such, the story of that carpet could be told, could said files be retreived and compiled. I'm supposed to forget all of this, never speak of it again, and work silently until I die like a proper adult. But the roots run deep and I cannot kill these weeds, though I've grown more adept at trimming them. The story of that carpet flap is written in breathtaking clarity, etched in cosmic stone somewhere I'll never be. And I shouldn't care.

    Because it's just a piece of carpet.
    These thoughts go through my head too, bro, I often wonder about paradoxes and rifts that can occur from random objects I run across. Like, what could happen, if I altered the shape of one? Moved it? Would it only affect that object, or would it set in motion something else entirely? There is a pair of old shoes strewn over a light post on the street adjacent to my apartment; they've been there a really long time. Sun damaged, rain damaged, a warped shade of green. I wonder if the person who threw them up there goes back to check on the condition of their shoes from time to time. Seeing those shoes is a reminder of things being timeless; motionless, yet still maturing, and the only thing affecting them is the experiences of life itself.
    Last edited by Derpamix; 05-28-2013 at 04:16 AM.
    Longing is the agony of the nearness of the distant

  8. #58
    diene's Avatar
    diene is offline Senior Member
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    Quote Originally Posted by Knifegill View Post
    Just a piece of carpet.

    I know I should ignore the desire to explore abstractions. As an adult, the experiences of an inanimate assembly of atoms should be of no interest to me. I should drive right on by, not wondering how many times it's been flipped over and spun around by passing trucks with their eddy currents. I shouldn't wonder how much its weight has increased as it has taken on oils and sand and other muck. But, in truth, I do. I want to know about the man who cut that piece of carpet, what kind of music he listens to, if he works hard or hardly works. I want to know whether it fell off of a carpet company truck or out of someone's garbage can. And I inherently have always believed that time is concrete, that we are simply scrolling along it, and so all locations of all particles in the universe are stored like snapshots for all time. As such, the story of that carpet could be told, could said files be retreived and compiled. I'm supposed to forget all of this, never speak of it again, and work silently until I die like a proper adult. But the roots run deep and I cannot kill these weeds, though I've grown more adept at trimming them. The story of that carpet flap is written in breathtaking clarity, etched in cosmic stone somewhere I'll never be. And I shouldn't care.

    Because it's just a piece of carpet.
    You can write stream-of-consciousness novels. The main character would just be you. Change some things so it's not entirely autobiographical. Fabricate some things so it's more exciting (unless you already live a super exciting life). Then just have these stream-of-consiousness paragraphs. The literary types will drink it up.

    I can already see lit students being made to analyze this paragraph. What does the piece of carpet symbolize? Why, it is a metaphor for the author's perception of himself and his past. He wonders about the events that has brought it to this place and this time; he believes that the carpet's story could be told. But he cannot actually tell that story, just as he cannot revisit his past because time, as the author implies, is linear, and the past cannot be relived. But the author longs to revisit his past; he longs for the days of his childhood even though he knows that he should not because he is an adult and should look forward and not back. Hmmm...that's probably a C+ English essay right there.

    In fact, the carpet was just a carpet the author saw tumbling on the freeway.

  9. #59
    Knifegill's Avatar
    Knifegill is online now Senior Member
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    Yesterday, junk at Mother-in-law's. Today, instant ketosis!

    Mother-in-law was trying to be nice and made gluten-free garlic bread for us. We were already at the table and just aren't rude enough to ask for ingredients, you know? So we ate it. And I was dumb and at more of it than I should have. Then, without thinking about it, I later had a horrible blood sugar spike and then spend the rest of the night feeling like I was wearing a lead suit, just on the verge of passing out. Read the ingredients later before we went home, it was straight poison, soy and corn and bad oils. Dammit.

    So I woke up today determined to reset my body and bring back that lovin' feelin'. Had a pound of bacon and a cup of coconut milk in my coffee, went for a bike ride, and now I smell like a ketone factory! I love this smell! It's like a checkered flag waving at the start of a race. "Go!" it screams, and fat will be our fuel all day today.

    Gotta go stack wood now and do my best lumberjack impression. I'm going to smell so ketoney! Yayz!


    Turquoisepassion:
    Knifegill is christened to be high carb now!
    notontherug:
    the buttstuff...never interested.
    He gives me Lamprey Kisses in the midnight sea
    Flubby tubby gums latching onto me
    For all that I've done wrong, I mastodon something right...

    My pony picture thread http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread82786.html

  10. #60
    Knifegill's Avatar
    Knifegill is online now Senior Member
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    Alright. Yes, I have bad cramps. Yes, the weather is bad. Excuses be darned. Yes, I need to get back into sprinting, it's been a couple of months. This is my declaration to get back into it. This morning after work I'll go across the street to the park, and if it's raining I'll sprint in the alley. Doing this!


    Turquoisepassion:
    Knifegill is christened to be high carb now!
    notontherug:
    the buttstuff...never interested.
    He gives me Lamprey Kisses in the midnight sea
    Flubby tubby gums latching onto me
    For all that I've done wrong, I mastodon something right...

    My pony picture thread http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread82786.html

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