will i transcribe over 50,000 words--

-- just for some possible digital cred?
probably not, but you never know.
this isn't probably the best way to publish this stuff
and why start writing under a realish name this way--
if you start with something non fiction/memmwhaeesque
everything after is referred to it
after and then everything is referred back
well, the only reason really is the fredom of outing yourself first
and liberation is a good reason
but reasoning is also a point of timing.

so, later

easily over forty thousand words

i won't verify.
god damn it.
do i bother to make this a cohesive narrative for the feeble readers made remedial by their sad excuse for schooling?
do i bother with those the "experts" tell me are beneath my concern?
one more person calls me a genius and eyes will roll
from the lack of consciousness and blood.
it never matter when it's so idiot who is afraid of big words and computer cords.
it's you awarded verifiers and your doctorated dweebs.
your opinions almost matter less.
since you are so great in your mass of matter and yet so removed from matters at hand.
i hate you all so much in that way that does not mean real hate.
don't wait for that begging letter. it will never come.
if i needed you now, i would have bothered then.
i'd rather be a pauper in the right than a hippo crit in the wrong
for the filthy lucre you forgot to protect.
how sad your "genius" didn't extend to your financial soundness.
remind me to care after i've scrubbed the blood off the floor of the apartment of that poor girl that didn't matter enough to have a name.
and, yes, it is a hands and knees job to do it right
and i'm not talking about your chemically enabled genitals.
again.
a gardener would prune that sad weed, chauncey.

"carly's still got it--

where is it, though?
and what happened to [deleted]--"

"--earl mountain? you made that up."

That's YOUral, URAL, mountains, you eejit.
I have a theory-- ( --giles), or had a theory, rather--
it's been panning out nicely.
it's killing my sci fi story writing though
not the one about the circus whores.

holepuncher

"--you can't just blow holes in stars! You'll sending things flying out of orbit. You're gonna kill dinosaurs."
"First of all, it's not a star, it's an ass--"
"I wish on satellites, and you, sir, are a potential dinosaur killer. No, a dinokiller wanna be."
"She has no idea what she's talking about--"
"Oh, yeah? Yeah? Explain that to the future late settlements of om seti nine, you lab rat bastard baker! When your iceballs have rained on their parade after it should have been shielding them from demise!"
"Is that a Start Trek reference?"
"Are you a Star Trek reference?"
"I bet it was an indian thing."
"You're an indian thing."
"What does this have to do with robots, again?"
"Have you seen those ads where they 'love my robot'?"
"Oh my god, did i tell you my brother got a Roomba?"

the beginning of an old old story start--

--with what i would call my first memory.
It wasn't what i'd call real, it was an image of something that felt right: a blossoming pink tree.
People all seemed to have first memories; i remember once in a Sizzler with a bunch of single digit classmates talking. One girl remembered her mother's breast milk being spicy from being at a mexican restaurant. (Thinking back on this, i have to wonder how old she was when she stopped breast feeding.)

At sometime around four, i realized my memories had no chronology, and some of my strongest memories were denied any reality. There is a knowing you get when your reality is constantly being challenged. When your sister is always making stuff up, and your mother is ditheringly tired, and your father is a picture of a blanket of sleeping bags in an operating theater.
You can watch life prove you right after the fact over and over again for ages.
Not that it helps.
Then.

"Ready?" "ready." "begin."

--session outtake

[let me shake out the dust bunnies first]
[and the neighbors who are listening, it's true. they are checking my typing speed as well as the live music cavalade. i will record them on the audio of my video if you like.

ok, get in text mode, get in text mode, shake it out]
eh, i've been up too long what can i say.
maybe it was all the alcohol.
that's it. it's whiskey pen. or vodka pen.
sorry.
i hear it happens a lot.
seen it. too.
*giggle*

the virtue of a dirty glass.

[since we're waiting anyway--]
Says the bartender with an almost mishievious smile, but it's more knowing and a bit weary for it, but just that spark, that spark makes it young, and full of life in that timeless way.

[we take a momentary interruption to Marquez to comment on the survival of winedrinkers int he time of cholera]

Forgetting is not the hardest part.

[making time is, right now]

[life gets in the way]

[and now a bug just bit me or i have a single hive. lovely. so should all august processions proceed. with a slight inflammation and a general lack of [deleted]
my god. and something supremely cheesy just came on the telly. and i may have just gotten my period.
.
and should i be worried that there is a section called chick lit or am i just out of the loop again?
and this blogger spazz, well that's another reason.
why aren't any of these good enough?
it's just me.
i should cut my nails first.]

and so begins "a long time coming"

this is for nanowrimo
my word counts will go by incriments of ten and not be accurate
selections will be from web public sites only
and so the questin turns and burns:
the old story? maybe fragments, not the same
a new story? in a sense, of old things and stuff you may know about.
so what is this story?
it's just a story.
kinda about me.
who is just a girl.
in the gender sense.
because it makes it easier than typing it out all over again and again.
because if it has a reasin besides my own, all the better.
no, i don't know all about the nanowrimo guys, but it's good enough for me.
no, don't tell me, because if i don't know something at this point, unless it's real important, i don't want to know.
no, it's just easier this way.
no, look, it's gonna have to be real important for me to care right now.