Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 33

Like Roses

Your shit doesn’t smell like roses
It’s an assault on all of our noses
Yet you do your supermodel poses
While you piss on truth with hoses
Your seed doesn’t grow superheroes
Your sperm count is damn near zero
Skin color doesn’t make you superior
Doesn’t sweeten your ugly interior
No hospital would call you a doctor
No subordinate would be your fodder
A tiny brain in your oversized head
Your generation’s ways are dead
Everybody wants to save the world
With their favorite flags unfurled
Everyone wants to be right all the time
But nobody wants the uphill climb
You reserve the right to be smug
While you’re giving yourself a tug
We reserve the right to call you out
To make you question, make you doubt
To make you feel some discomfort
To make you feel quite humble
You’re not the king of our earth
Not the chosen one since birth
Your prophecy arc was based on lies
Even you pump gas, cook our fries
Let’s see you work for buffalo nickels
My burger doesn’t have enough pickles
But don’t worry, you’re still number one
The platform on which you should run
Maybe your shit really smells like roses
Or you’re high on your own overdoses

Spice

VERSE 1
Yelling with no reason for yelling
Not enough showing, too much telling
Salty for the sake of being salty
Argument falls apart, too faulty
You have to know when to surrender
When to stop playing the role of defender
Not every hill is worth dying on
Not every shoulder is worth crying on

CHORUS
Spice! Spice! So nice we did it twice!
Really no difference between fire and ice
Spice! Spice! Aggressively entice!
Reward their loyalty like laboratory mice
Spice! Spice!
Spice! Spice!

VERSE 2
Say you’re sorry, it’s all they need
The best advice for you to heed
Too much spice ignites the fire
Too much fighting makes you tire
It’s not a sign of infinite weakness
To know when you’ve been defeated
Ratings aren’t worth all the screaming
Nightmare fuel is what you’re dreaming

CHORUS
Spice! Spice! So nice we did it twice!
Really no difference between fire and ice
Spice! Spice! Aggressively entice!
Reward their loyalty like laboratory mice
Spice! Spice!
Spice! Spice!

BRIDGE
Jalapeno pizza and habanera chicken wings
These are a few of our favorite things
Spicy anger mixed with salty prose
Don’t let these be your lowest lows

VERSE 3
It’s always okay to ask for forgiveness
It’s a beautiful thing to behold and witness
Vulnerability makes heroes of us all
Unlike the endless hunger to assault

EXTENDED CHORUS
Spice! Spice! So nice we did it twice!
Really no difference between fire and ice
Spice! Spice! Aggressively entice!
Reward their loyalty like laboratory mice
Spice! Spice! Even more of it will suffice!
Addicted to the drama like it’s a real vice
Spice! Spice! It’ll all come with a price!
Rolling snake eyes when you throw the dice
Spice! Spice!
Spice! Spice!

Hand Massage

A downpour outside, a perfect day for love
So many places I’d love to gently touch
My god, your hands! Cracked and rough
Scarred from the days of being so tough
Jagged nails on the tips of your fingers
Scratching and clawing, the fighting lingers
Palms sore from the openhanded slaps
You gave to men who left you trapped
Your hands have seen much better days
No worries, I’ll soothe the pain away
A few drops of lotion before we play
Running my fingers across your skin
The lights above so hazy and dim
Relax as the cream moistens your hands
A radiant massage from your favorite man
Thumbs encircling your sorest places
Fingers together in romantic laces
Soon your hands will be silky smooth
A joy to hold as we tell each other truths
A pleasure to feel against my muscles
We come together with kisses and nuzzles
I’m glad we could have this time today
We could lay together and forever stay
The world could wait until tomorrow
Another massage to drown your sorrows?
Nothing else to do in this rainy tempest
I’ll be the incubus, you be the temptress
You’re not even real, but I can still dream
Maladaptive fantasies of heaven and cream
Much better than the real world around me
Where Washington rain tries to drown me

I Didn't Mean to Bore You

VERSE 1
What do I do to earn my glorious payday?
More like what I do to pass the time away
I create magic universes for others to see
Create 3D characters who eventually bleed
Write it all down and let the printer’s ink dry
Which is more than I’ll say about your eyes
Ask more questions, go ahead, I implore you
I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you

VERSE 2
One word answers are all that I’ll give
Code of silence is how I choose to live
Resting Bitch Face so photogenic
Photoshop’s got nothing on this edit
Blunt affect voice, my weapon of choice
Groaning and grunting, my only noise
Don’t take this as a sign I’ll ignore you
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you

BRIDGE
No common ground between the two of us
No longevity of friendship or moment of lust
Nothing to do but milk the grandfather clock
I can tell you’re more excited picking out socks

VERSE 3
Did I do anything fun on Valentine’s Day?
Sat on my ass and watched time tick away
Waiting for exhaustion to pass over my mind
Looking for inspiration anywhere I can find
Did I do anything fun on the fourth of July?
Just lay in my beddy-bye and ask myself why
Mandatory fun? I’d never even force you
I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you

FINAL VERSE
Until next time when we’re strangers again
Remember me not as your favorite friend
Remember me not as the one who rewards you
I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you

We Need to Talk

Sorry to bother you, but we need to talk
Grab your coat and let’s go for a walk
You’re not in trouble, of that I’m sure
I swear my intentions are good and pure
But something you did upset me so
It’ll be a while before you finally know
Let the quiet tension build within you
Run the gamut of drama old and new
Anxiety weighs heavily on your soul
Head is swimming, blood runs cold
You already forgot you’re not in trouble
Let your stomach acids boil and bubble
Remember that thing you did days ago?
Remember what you said with angry flow?
It hurts when you do that, don’t do it again
I actually reconsidered us being best friends
I’ll put it behind me, no question about it
But even you are beginning to doubt it
You’re red in the face, damp in the eyes
The next word from your mouth is a cry
You hold it in, let your eyeballs ache
Let your mind circle, your heart break
We had a good talk, though you never spoke
You desperately wanted this to be a joke
You won’t accept a hug from my arms
You won’t accept my sweetest charms
When we get back home, you stew alone
Glued to your computer or smart phone
Anything to get away from the awkwardness
And the guilt and shame on top of this
Until next time when you do it again
Solitude and blankets, your only friends
Make no mistake, we needed this talk
But when I’m gone, you’ll change the lock

I Don't Need an Out

***I DON’T NEED AN OUT***

While it is true that there’s no age limit for success in the world of writing, some days it can feel like you’re running out of time. Maybe it’s been a while since your last session. Maybe real life got in the way of what you love the most. Maybe the burnout bug bit you a little too hard on the ass. Whatever the case may be, the longer you delay your project, the more pressure you feel to get it done. You don’t necessarily want an out. You’re trying desperately to find an in. And yet, procrastination takes over anyways. You’ve been locked out of heaven and you’re desperately banging on the gates to get back in. I’ve been there. You’ve been there. Anybody who’s ever picked up a pen or pounded on a keyboard has been there.

It wasn’t always this way, but I’m definitely a procrastinator whether I want to admit it or not. From third grade all the way to eighth, it used to be that I’d do my homework right when I got home from school and not a moment later. I turned in my assignments on time and got the good grades I wanted (mostly). And then starting in my freshman year of high school when the bullying was at its worst, I waited until nightfall to start my homework assignments. I purposefully delayed my work because I was afraid the PTSD would interrupt me and cause me to fuck up. While I eventually overcame the bullying and mental trauma, the habit of delaying my schoolwork stayed with me until I graduated from college in 2009. It could have been the onset of schizophrenia that kept the habit alive, but it follows me well into the prime of my writing career.

Whether I consciously or subconsciously do it, I keep looking for an out from my creative duties. I don’t want to look for an out. I don’t need to. I’d love to storm the gates of heaven and climb over the top. But some days, I can’t tell if I’m legitimately too exhausted to work or if I’m looking for an out. Maybe the reason I keep looking for an out is because I’m afraid of being interrupted by what the fuck goes on inside my head. While it’s a terrible idea to write while mentally slogged, I agree, it has gotten in the way of progress and as a result I feel awful about doing nothing for the rest of the day. Yes, lots of good writers procrastinate and proudly so, but this is a habit I don’t want. I’d love to quell my anxieties before knowing for sure if I’m tired, but it hasn’t happened yet and here we are.

When I get right down to it, there’s really nothing to be afraid of other than being afraid of shit. When I edit a long-term project, there’s nothing to fear because my beta readers and editors are friendly people who give wise critiques. When I write a short story or novel chapter, there’s nothing to fear because I’m getting in my practice and keeping my skills sharp, first draft or not. When I’m writing a review, again, not much to be afraid of because I’ve already rehearsed all of my talking points in my head and I’m ready to go well in advance. I don’t want to use the tired old phrase “it’s all in my head”, but there really is no reason for all of this fear. If I fuck up badly, so what? That’s the beauty of writing: you don’t have to get it right the first time, unlike a brain surgeon or a police officer.

Back in 2017, Texas rock band Nothing More released an album called “The Stories We Tell Ourselves” and it has many dialogue tracks in between their original songs. One of those dialogue tracks is from philosopher Alan Watts and he describes how the only way to master fear is to allow yourself to be afraid. When you’re constantly fighting fear, you’re only setting up a vicious cycle of being afraid of fear and being afraid of being afraid of fear. When you relax your defenses, you realize you’ve got nothing to defend and there’s no reason to fight in the first place.

I practiced Alan Watts’s mantra many times on the nights before I attended a rock concert. There was always the lingering fear of something bad happening at the show or transportation to and from the show being stressful as hell. I allowed myself to be afraid. I let the anxiety wash over me and it worked. I mastered my own fear. Can this method be applied to my writing? If I try hard enough, I suppose. The next time I feel anxious about being critiqued or whatnot, I’m just going to let it happen. Let the fear do its thing and then sort out the logic later. Will I stop procrastinating? Maybe not, but at least acknowledging my own fear will feel better for me in the long run than undeserved guilt.

I’m not saying that Alan Watts’s mantra or my own life experiences will work for everybody else. There is no one-size-fits-all solution when it comes to psychology because everybody is different and everybody has their own set of obstacles. My obstacles are schizophrenia, burnout, and the anxiety that comes with both of those things. Being aware of your own mind and your own circumstances will come a long way, though. Once you know what the problem is, you can relax long enough to find a solution that works for you and you alone.

Try it. If it doesn’t work, try something else. Stay curious and keep looking for answers. Don’t look so hard for answers that you add to your anxieties. We can do this. We can overcome procrastination together. Or if procrastination is what you naturally do and it doesn’t interrupt your work schedule, it may not be a problem to begin with. Like I said, no one-size-fits-all solution. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!


***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

After twenty days of wrestling with procrastination and self-doubt, chapters seven and eight have been revised. Chapter nine will have to be rewritten entirely to accommodate for Tarja Rikkinen’s suggested character changes. Instead of being a Mary-Sue who talks like a therapist and fights like a goddess, she’ll crack jokes at inappropriate times as a way to mask her own trauma and then feel internally guilty afterwards. Also, there’s got to be some reason why Shelly Atwood’s voice keeps appearing in her mind, right? After all, those two characters look similar to each other. Hmm….


***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***

As much as I love Final Fantasy VII, they fucked up badly when they named one of Cloud Strife’s swords the Hard Edge. It’s a weapon that can be stolen from one of Shinra’s soldiers. But instead of saying that, my brother’s girlfriend at the time named Angela told me to, “Make them give you a Hard Edge”. I was only fifteen years old at the time, but I laughed like someone a fraction of my age when she said that. Those jokes just write themselves.

Oswald

I see you everyday sleeping your life away
Losing time again, can’t convince you to stay
Your legs are so weak you can’t stand up
Is this your way of saying you’ve had enough?
I’ll miss you dearly on the day that you pass
I’ll miss your chubby belly, so much mass
I’ll miss you rolling over on your back
I’ll miss you munching on a chicken snack
Miss your precious face, expressions so sweet
Miss your pretty eyes, close them as you sleep
The Rainbow Bridge is waiting for you
Make lots of friends for me, old and new
I hope your life was one worth living
My love for you was well worth giving
One of these days, we’ll cross paths again
Even in death, you’ll be my sweetest friend
Until next time, my Buddha-bellied feline
Until next time, my little oinking swine
Soon you will be free of your elderly pain
You’ll be missed so much, our eyes will rain
Losing fuzzy friends never gets easier
Reincarnate one day into someone beefier

Secretary

MOVIE TITLE: Secretary
DIRECTOR: Steven Shainberg
YEAR: 2002
GENRE: Erotic Drama
RATING: R for language and sexual content
GRADE: Fail

When you notice that this movie is an erotic drama and you see that James Spader’s character’s last name is Grey, your mind probably jumps to a decade later and a certain novel from E.L. James that generated controversy. Maybe this movie was a prophecy of sorts. I don’t see why not. Spader’s character’s first name is Edward and yes, that name also sounds suspicious considering where E.L. James got her inspiration from. Edward Grey is a sharp-dressed attorney who hires secretaries for the sole purpose of inflicting BDSM punishments on them whenever they make even the smallest of mistakes. He’s a well-to-do employer who takes full advantage of the power he has over his employees. Sound familiar? Not exactly a healthy relationship that’s built to last.

The imbalanced power dynamic is most evident when Maggie Gyllenhaal’s character, Lee Holloway, becomes his latest charge. She starts the movie by exiting a mental hospital after struggling so long with self-harm. While the act of cutting and bandaging herself is a realistic behavior of someone with her mental illnesses, it plays a little too well into the BDSM relationship. Edward Grey spanks her repeatedly and she gets off on that. Let me repeat that back to you, not unlike a secretary typing a letter for a powerful attorney: a woman who finds psychological healing in harming herself finds sexual pleasure in being harmed, by someone with too much professional power, no less. I’ll let that sink in for a little while.

But perhaps I’m reading too much into this. After all, one of this movie’s thousands of subgenres is comedy. Comedy shouldn’t be taken too seriously, right? I’d agree with that sentiment if it wasn’t for the fact that I didn’t laugh one single time throughout this movie. I could have watched an orphanage burn to the ground and it would have made me laugh harder than this movie. Was I supposed to be impressed by the over-the-top portrayal of BDSM culture? Was Lee Holloway’s awkwardness supposed to make me chuckle? Maybe it’s just dry humor and belly laughs weren’t necessarily required. Maybe I’m too dumb to get the punch line. Whatever the case may be, I think the word “comedy” can be removed from this movie’s list of subgenres and it wouldn’t suffer much.

Up until the ending, this movie had loads of potential. It could have been a dark story about the power imbalance between boss and subordinate. It could have been a struggle with mental illness. Edward Grey’s small moments of guilt could have encompassed the entire story and I would have been fine with that. While I won’t spoil the ending, I will give away the fact that as the movie draws closer to it, the overall tone becomes happy and romantic. That’s right. Taking advantage of a vulnerable, mentally ill woman is seen as a healthy relationship dynamic. Maybe this movie was a prophecy after all. Thanks, but no thanks. This movie gets a failing grade because it reminds me too much of Fifty Shades of Grey. And for the record, the sex scenes are just as vanilla.

My Response to "Noise" by Nightwish

***MY RESPONSE TO “NOISE” BY NIGHTWISH***

I’ve been a fan of Nightwish’s music dating all the way back to 2002. It started with “She Is My Sin” from the Wishmaster album and it snowballed from there. I was heartbroken to learn about Tarja Turunen’s firing from the band in 2005. I also crushed on her and Anette Olzon throughout my college days. I talked with Tuomas Holopainen on My Space (if that was really him). I wrote several creepy essays about Nightwish to cope with my loneliness. Okay, that last part was on a need-to-know basis, but you get what I’m trying to say. And I’ve accepted the fact that my heroes and I are going to have disagreements from time to time. I don’t agree with Roger Waters’s fox hunting. I don’t agree with Daniel Bryan’s anti-meat agenda. I don’t agree with George Carlin’s hatred of fat people. Disagreements happen and that’s a part of life a lot of people are going to have to get realistic about.

A few days ago, Nightwish released a new single from their latest album and that song is called “Noise”. If you’ve watched the video for it or have read the lyrics on Google, then you’d be blind not to notice the strong technophobic themes. You’ve heard these messages before from Baby Boomers and Gen Xers. Staring at your screen all the time will make you mentally ill. Social media will brainwash you into becoming a mediocre zombie. Young people need to wake up. Yada, yada, yada, you get the point by now. There used to be a time when I blindly agreed with these sentiments. But knowing what I know about today’s world and how my generation has been derided for far too long, I’m afraid I’m going to have to crack my knuckles for this post. Tuomas, Floor, Marco, everyone in the band, I love you all dearly. I wouldn’t trade you for anyone else. But you wanted a conversation and you’ve got one.

In case I haven’t whined about it enough online, I live in a small town called Port Orchard, Washington. I’ve lived in small towns for pretty much all of my teenaged and adult life. These small towns all have something in common: they’ve got…and I’m not exaggerating…a whole lot of jack shit. The most entertaining thing one could do in Port Orchard is go to a grocery store or fast food establishment and pig the fuck out on junk food. You can also do drugs and alcohol if you’d like. Me? I could probably go to a bar and meet strangers. There’s just one problem: I don’t have a car nor do I want one. I’ll leave it to someone else to fly through the windshield and plow into a ditch. With no car and with constantly pouring weather, I can’t exactly go out and do whatever the hell I want without someone giving me a lift. Even if I did trust myself behind the wheel of a car, I wouldn’t be able to meet people anyways because I’m too fucking shy. I hate being rejected and I hate embarrassing other people as well.

More often than not, the only form of entertainment I can consistently count on is social media. Whether I’m watching a You Tube video, surfing Deviant Art, interacting with other readers on Good Reads, or boosting my own career as an independently-published author, social media has been there for me. That’s right. Without social media, I’d have no writing career. I could go the traditionally published route, but that would mean getting past gatekeepers that never gave a shit about me in the first place. The reason it’s called social media is because it’s, you guessed it, social. In a town with a whole lot of jack shit, I can go online and talk to other people who are feeling just as lonely as me. Are they online all the time? No. But it’s better than wandering the rainy streets of Port Orchard looking for a whole lot of nothing. What am I supposed to do, knock on random doors in my neighborhood and ask people if they want to be my friend? Please.

Does social media have drawbacks? Yes. Is it unhealthy to compare yourself to the perfect versions of other people? Yes. Should I be looking for other hobbies? Yes. But do I have much of a choice in the matter given my circumstances? Absolutely not. Cars are expensive as hell and they’re fucking dangerous too. Real life people would rather avoid and ignore me than see my vulnerable side. Being a lower class weirdo doesn’t matter on social media because strangers will be there to comfort you and come together for you. Do I still feel lonely sometimes? Yes. But do I blame it all on social media and my generation growing up with it? Hell no. Blaming my generation for everything is a lazy copout for fixing systemic problems within our society.

But this is just my experience. I’m sure there are people out there who do just fine without social media. Hell, I know some old people who are glued to their phones and nobody kicks up a fuss about them. We all have our way of coping with boring lives. We all have a distraction of some sort. Some people snort cocaine. Some people chow down on Kentucky Fried Chicken. Me? I use social media as my escape. Why? Because I don’t have a fucking choice. Do I want choices? Absolutely. But are they going to present themselves to me in a way that’s considerate of my circumstances? No.

Like I said earlier, I love Nightwish and will always cherish their music no matter what. I don’t want you all to think I’m putting the boots to them over a minor disagreement. They’re entitled to their opinions just like I’m entitled to mine. I’m sure Tuomas and I can sit down and discuss this over a nice lunch at That One Place (a diner here in Port Orchard with enormous fucking pancakes). I’m sure Floor and I can share a few plates of chow mein from China Sun Buffet (also in Port Orchard), and no, that’s not me asking her out on a date. Remember, I don’t like embarrassing other people with my flirty behavior and that includes Floor Jansen.

The point is, Nightwish wanted to get a discussion going and that’s exactly what happened. I see a lot of people agreeing with “Noise’s” message on social media (the irony is killing me), but I don’t see a lot of opposition. I can promise you one thing, though: if Nightwish ever comes to my home state of Washington for a concert, I promise I won’t shout “OK Boomer!” after they’re done playing Noise. That dishonor is reserved for Nonpoint and their song “Generation Idiot”. I’m joking, of course. Nonpoint did a hell of a job opening for Hellyeah back in December, though I was secretly doing my happy dance when they neglected to play “Generation Idiot”. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“The days were brighter. Gardens were blooming. The nights had more hope in their silence. The wild was calling. Wishes were whispering. The time was there, but without a meaning. The days departed. Gardens deserted. This frail world my only rest. The wild calls no more. Wishes were hollow. The barefoot boy weeping in an empty night. Cherish the moment. Tower the skies. Don’t let the dreamer fade to gray like grass. No falling for life. A gain for every loss. Time gathered me, but kept me flying. Away, away, away in time. Every dream’s a journey away. Away, away to a home away from care. Everywhere’s just a journey away.”

-Nightwish singing “Away”, which as you can see is not a technophobic diatribe-

"What I'm Not" Officially Canceled

***”WHAT I’M NOT” OFFICIALLY CANCELED***

It’s not often than I scrub a piece of creative writing I did off the face of the internet. The last time I did it was in 2014 with a PG-13 erotica short story called Tainted Love. Six days after my 29th birthday, this stinker managed to piss off the entire world with the way I objectified the lone female character and glorified her Stockholm Syndrome. I own that black eye on my track record and promise never to do those horrible things again. So what could I have possibly written this time that would deserve such a thorough cleansing from the web? I’ll tell you what it was: the first and final episode of What I’m Not.

I’ve had the idea for What I’m Not for as long as I’ve been fantasizing about having a You Tube channel. Many of my closest friends encouraged me to do my own You Tube project and I’ve been hesitant to give it a try, for fear that the ungodly amount of stress would send me into a schizophrenic hell all over again. But let’s say for instance that I had the guts to bare my soul to the world in front of a phone camera. What I’m Not was supposed to be a vlog series detailing all of my worst mistakes as a semi-professional author. In other words, it was a cautionary tale to rookies to not fuck up as badly as I did. I made the mistakes so nobody else would have to.

In theory, this would actually be a good idea. I don’t have much in the way of writing expertise except for what not to do. I still can’t craft a 3D character worth a damn. I still don’t know what the fuck a “character-driven story” is. What I’m Not would have been a comedic and lighthearted look into my worst decisions. So when I wrote the first episode, which was about admitting unemployment to strangers, audience members, and bosses, I decided to have a little fun and pepper in some jokes here and there. I was so excited to have this episode written that I didn’t even proofread the damn thing before posting it. That in and of itself would have made a fine idea for a What I’m Not episode.

When I finally read what I had written (twice), I was frozen with horror. There’s no way in hell writing this awful could have come from my imagination. I’m not even talking about first draft standards, because let’s face it, all first drafts by their very nature suck. This episode was by far, no exaggeration, the WORST thing I had ever written. It was so bad, in fact, that I scrubbed it from the internet before it had the chance to be critiqued. At least with the first draft of Beautiful Monster, it had potential despite the glaring flaws in the way I handled the subject of rape. At least with the first draft of Silent Warrior, it was…well…something! This episode of What I’m Not was a disaster from the get-go. It had no such potential. My big fat ass cat Oswald could have written a better episode than this and all he does is lie around and piss himself while waiting to die.

The tone of this episode could only be described as a whiny rant. I whined about my job hunting past. I whined about classism in dating. I ranted against people who were just trying to be nice and make small talk with me. All of this was supposed to be done in a comedic tone, but trust me when I say there was nothing funny about what I had written. A burning orphanage is funnier than this. Childhood cancer is funnier than the garbage I had written. Lily Singh’s “comedy” is funnier than…eh, you get the point by now. Wouldn’t want this blog entry to be a whining mess either, so I’ll quit while I’m ahead.

After I had wiped this episode from my social media pages and taken a few deep breaths to chill my anxiety, I questioned whether or not future episodes of What I’m Not would be just as bad as this one was. Fearing the answer might be an emphatic “fuck yes”, I decided going forward that the What I’m Not series had to be permanently canceled. I’m sure there’s a market for advice on what not to do as a writer, but I’m not the salesman. Not anymore. But did these episodes have to be funny? In my mind, they did, because that was the only thing they had going for them. If I tried to make the episodes serious, it would have sounded even whinier than before.

While my social media accounts have a small audience, You Tube would have had a lot more eyes on it. Can you imagine if I translated my writing into a video and a gajillion people saw it? I consider myself fortunate that I can toe the line between a private citizen and an internet personality. This is not a microscope I want to find myself under. This is not a hill I want to die on. If I ever decide to do a nonfiction series again, I’ll need a different topic and it’ll have to be a topic that doesn’t require a comedic edge. I can be funny from time to time, but not all the time. I don’t have the charisma to keep my funny streak going forever and ever. Drama is much easier than comedy, but whining will not be tolerated.

Will I ever create a You Tube channel given that What I’m Not turned out to be a dud? I think I’m more comfortable writing my nonfiction out instead of being in front of a camera. Yes, I know that staying in the comfort zone is supposed to be a bad thing, but then again, so is falling so badly on my ass that I can’t recover. My You Tube audience wouldn’t have let me hear the end of it. At least on Deviant Art, Good Reads, and Blogger, I don’t have to worry about supreme failure, because the audience for those platforms is smaller. But a small audience won’t bring me a great deal of success. Then again, success doesn’t always amount to fame and fortune. Everyone’s idea of success is different and sometimes it doesn’t mean being glared at under the world’s most powerful electron microscope.

If this blog entry sounds too whiny to keep my message consistent, I apologize profusely. I don’t know who was really looking forward to the What I’m Not series, but it’s been officially canceled as of now. My main priorities at the moment will be editing Beautiful Monster, reading my books, drawing my pictures, and watching my movies. Drawing and movie watching in particular are both excellent ways to get away from the writing grind and restore some of my lost energy. Sure, I write reviews for every movie I watch (Star Wars Episodes VII-IX be damned), but at least I have the energy to do those by the time the movie is over. Funny how that works out. As far as Beautiful Monster is concerned, I still have chapter seven staring me in the face, but that’s okay because it’s not a time sensitive project. Editing jobs aren’t supposed to be. Slow and steady wins the race. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I want to go home, take off this uniform, and leave the show. But I’m waiting in this cell, because I have to know: have I been guilty all this time?”

-Pink Floyd singing “Stop”-