She went on Photoshop and changed her body
Byebye imperfecton
Icon spray can flesh spray paint click
She doctored photos
Byebye scar
Byebye bellybutton
Showing posts with label Creative Writing Degree Uses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Creative Writing Degree Uses. Show all posts
He Who Laughs Last Doesn't Have Leukemia
Cracked open a bottle of champagne today, took it with me on my bicycle and did a victory lap around my neighborhood.
As you may or may not know, the Guy From LFO has died from Leukemia. Today many a twitter, Facebook status, and news ticker read:
"Guy From LFO Dies"
Guy From LFO
LFO: One Down Two to Go
Some of you maybe wondering what is LFO? Why the celebration?
Well...
A Case of the Weekbegins
I tell my therapist that I hate Weekbegins.
"So you have a case of the Mondays?" she replies.
No.
I don't have a case of the Mondays.
I have a case of the Weekbegins. I have what normal people have on Mondays, spread out across three days. Weekbegins are Mondays and Tuesdays and Wednesdays because it's humpday, the three days that are furthest from the Weekend. On Sunday evening I feel the starting onset of a depression that doesn't go away until the Weekends, but it lessens on Thursdays.
I can deal with Thursday because you know it's going to be Friday the next day, and I'm fine with Friday because, well... it's Friday.
She tells me to elaborate.
There will never be a restaurant called T.G.I.Mondays, and if there were, it would serve shit sandwiches, with a side of Is-This-What-My-Life-Has-Come-To fries and a I-Might-Columbine-My-Work-Place shake. You don't want to go there. And I agree they should change the name of their menu items to something less melancholy.
A case of the Weekbegins is absolutely debilitating, life draining, an emotional existential black-hole.
Why aren't we as a society up in-arms, wearing colored wrist bands for the elimination of this disease? Anyone with a job can attest to a case of the Weekbegins. Worst than AIDS I tell you. Can we please cure something we've all had?
Studies show (My own study) that the world's worst atrocities in History were on Monday or at least on the first three days of the week. When was the last time you heard of a hostage situation on a Saturday, or a bomb threat on Sunday? You don't. You'd be too busy enjoying life, rethinking you're whole I'm angry at the world thing. BBQ with the wife and kids, clubbing with your friends on your reality show, driving your yacht to a clam bake on an island you own. Bikini's everywhere, even the men.
Netflix.
You could finally catch up on your Netflix.
and you'd be happy
Columbine happened on a Tuesday (couldn't of happened on a Thursday or Friday too close to weekend)
Discovery Channel Hostage situation on a Wednesday
Hiroshima happened on a Monday
cased
FUCKIN
CLOSED.
Weekends shouldn't be so sought after. It just shows how much the rest of week blows. We love the weekends so much it's a surprise we don't kill our selves Monday through Friday.
She scoots up her chair and says, "Tell me more. Tell me more about your theories about the world."
Adultlescent
My husband has run off into the woods again. He's attempting to live out his adultlescent fantasy of living off the grid, living off the fat of the land, in nature, with dirt underneath his nails, testicles pickled in his own vinegary sweat, grown man gone wild. His office called today, they tell me that he hasn't been at work at all this week, and they are worried, that he wont get his project done on time.
Running into the woods is very similar to his adolescent fantasy of skipping school, throwing away his backpack and books in a river, and living out 12th grade in his tree-house, drinking rain water, eating apples from the tree-house that supported his house, and reading 18th century pornographic literature. He lived in that tree-house for four days his senior year, until I came climbing up his tree-house, thinking it was empty. I was running away from home because my mother had found my stash of 18th century pornographic literature between my mattress. We had a lot in common.
Today, he left a drawing addressed to me next to his bowl of cereal, now soggy and bloated, floating like tiny wheat and corn-syrup drowning victims. On the floor were several crumpled balls of construction paper, leading me to believe that the drawing next to the cereal was the final product of failed rough drafts.
The drawing employed several art styles of the early 20th Century: Cubism, Suprematism, and a slight hint of influence from Social Realism that really belongs more in the category of early 19th century art movements, then 20th Century art movements. His choice to employ cubism to show his disconnect, his discontent with his surroundings, is rather cliche. But from what I gathered from the drawing, he was in the woods, somewhere up north, being attacked by giant cubes.
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