Brad Simkulet's Blog, page 22
December 1, 2016
"The Sea is a sort of mythological enemy, and I make what you might call sacrifices to it in my soul,..."
- Iain Banks, The Wasp Factory (via musicistheart)
the sore spot (2.22)
that gut punch must have ruptured something because i can’t hardly move for the pain. usually i would hear a voice whispering in my ear, “stay down,” but there’s no voice this time because i can’t get up. all i can do is turtle and take the boots. to my back. to my face. to my chest. to that spot again. and i hear the screech of a wounded animal. i’m not surprised it is me. i know as soon as the bloody gasping scream escapes my throat that it’s me. his boot took away my speculation. i felt a warm gush after a pop this time. whatever ruptured or tore before has exploded. it’s pain like i’ve never felt. then calm. my brain shuts everything down. things are going dark. i’m about to end. after all these years of peace, it ends in violence. shit.
November 29, 2016
November 24, 2016
basement-alien:don’t forget that this is currently happening as...
don’t forget that this is currently happening as we celebrate a holiday based on the continuing history of genocide and systemic racism in America~ happy thanksgiving
November 21, 2016
You want to feel everything; I don't want to feel anything. It is as simple, and as complicated as that.
Maybe its time I started wanting to feel nothing. Maybe feeling everything is killing me.
November 20, 2016
2020 (2.21)
Come Friday, I have a little less than three years to live. How do I explain this so you don’t write me off as a kook?
November 19, 2016
November 16, 2016
November 14, 2016
without narcissism (2.20)
you’d think by now there’d be no more new chess openings, that all those permutations would have been uncovered, and perhaps that is true. perhaps none are new. my guess is some anonymous chess player’s made every move
but no one recorded those openings for posterity, and that anonymous player couldn’t have cared less. he may have been an idiot who merely stumbled onto those moves; she may have been a genius who just cared nothing for the game; he may have been an average guy, from an average family, with an average life, who knew he was good but not the significance; she could have been born in the wrong time, in the wrong circumstances, and only played for fun. whoever made those moves, one or many, i imagine they have all been made, and i am guessing it is lack of ego, lack of self-aggrandizement (unless it was lack of opportunity) that let those moves slip away into time, let them remain just one magical moment in a meaningless game, only to be rediscovered by some savant narcissist and turned into a modern miracle of gaming excellence.
