Jeez, that was a rollercoaster on acid to read. And my inner voice keeps on piping up ‘but how about living it?!’ all the way through so have two monologues in my head, mine and yours, and they’re fighting with each other for my attention and of course yours wins and fucking hell I’m exhausted now. Which is nothing to how you feel.
I wish hope would help you get out of this mess very soon. I’m hoping you do. And great, great piece by the way.
The more I know you the harder it is to read what you write ...in a good way. There's so much going on in this - more like a torrent of semi consciousness - and so many gun references - this I find troubling, makes me nervous, but my world is one where there just are no guns and the only long wooden boxes are the ones with your loved ones in 'em, and potatoes go in the oven with BBQ wedge rub on them. I fired a shotgun once, and it scared me shitless - I was convinced I would kill all my friends by accident buy yet be unable to stop blasting; like the gun would make me lose control. Its hard to stop reading this when you start because it has the sense that any minute there's going to be....an apocalyptic event of some kind, and yet there is also the mundane everywhere and a humming thread of taught frustration and a sound like gnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn in the back of your mind. If I had three wishes one of them would be for you guys to get some tranquility in your lives.
I felt like I was riding bitch on a bicycle going down an 80-degree hill but with nothing to hold onto and slave to the momentum reading this. Literally ran to the bathroom after because I could not stop reading. Great piece. I still have my fingers crossed you and yours get out.
Also: I've been listening to The Real MacKenzies non-stop this whole week because of you. Not mad at that, though
Jeez, that was a rollercoaster on acid to read. And my inner voice keeps on piping up ‘but how about living it?!’ all the way through so have two monologues in my head, mine and yours, and they’re fighting with each other for my attention and of course yours wins and fucking hell I’m exhausted now. Which is nothing to how you feel.
I wish hope would help you get out of this mess very soon. I’m hoping you do. And great, great piece by the way.
Thank you, I don't think people realize it's fiction, there's just, you know, some real in there.
I *think* I picked out the real (there’s probably/definitely things I’ve missed), but it’s stitched so well into the fiction.
Funny I was considering doing a voiceover for this, Floridecay, or my name is my name.... Hah
That would be great.
The more I know you the harder it is to read what you write ...in a good way. There's so much going on in this - more like a torrent of semi consciousness - and so many gun references - this I find troubling, makes me nervous, but my world is one where there just are no guns and the only long wooden boxes are the ones with your loved ones in 'em, and potatoes go in the oven with BBQ wedge rub on them. I fired a shotgun once, and it scared me shitless - I was convinced I would kill all my friends by accident buy yet be unable to stop blasting; like the gun would make me lose control. Its hard to stop reading this when you start because it has the sense that any minute there's going to be....an apocalyptic event of some kind, and yet there is also the mundane everywhere and a humming thread of taught frustration and a sound like gnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn in the back of your mind. If I had three wishes one of them would be for you guys to get some tranquility in your lives.
I felt like I was riding bitch on a bicycle going down an 80-degree hill but with nothing to hold onto and slave to the momentum reading this. Literally ran to the bathroom after because I could not stop reading. Great piece. I still have my fingers crossed you and yours get out.
Also: I've been listening to The Real MacKenzies non-stop this whole week because of you. Not mad at that, though
HAH, Well the year was 1778.
....and how I wish I was in sherbrooke now.... damn you