Letters are yummy #1

I see letters as real physical things, colors, motions, shapes.  So now I will show to you the alphabet, as I see it.

The letter A

The letter A is indistinct.  A blob of color, with bumpy edges.  It's the first letter of the alphabet, so of course it's the first letter in my positional synesthesia.  It's off to the left, in the corner over there.  I don't know what it's doing, but it looks pretty smug, to itself.  maybe it's having a secret affair with B.



The letter B

The letter B is a party of color, a disco ball of white and blue and yellow.  It took me a while to realize what it was at first, because it's a whole bunch of colors, instead of one.  Is it having an affair with A?  I don't know. Why don't you ask it?






The letter C

This letter looks kind of like a school bus.  It's yellow, and square.  It's at on the other side of B from A, which is important, because both C and A orbit B, while D forms a ring around them. It's a pretty solid letter, though a bit indistinct.  I have to work a bit to see it. 





The letter D

The letter D forms a ring around A, B, and C.  It's big, and its suffocating.  It's kind of like the oort cloud of comets around the solar system, but a turd colored brown, instead of blue or whatever color comets are.







The letter E 

The letter E is a big bar of green, that wants to jump all over the place.  It's hard to look at, because it keeps wanting to jump into my eyes.  It's crazy, and it tastes like apple Laffy Taffy.  Imagine that. 







The letter F

The letter F, interestingly enough, tastes like banana Laffy Taffy.  It wants to spread out at the top, where the ffff of F moves through the letter.  It's not the same color of yellow as C.  It's brighter, more happy.  F is a very happy letter.  It likes E.  I don't think it likes G, though.




The letter G

F doesn't like G because G is unhappy.  G is drooping, full of grape flavoring (Grape Laffy Taffy, as a matter of fact.)  It's dark, and brooding.  It's on a black background because that's just how dark it is.  In fact, all the letters are on a black background, but I just forgot to mention it.  Sorry.  I misled you.  I'm keeping white backgrounds for clarity's sake.  You can look at the background of my webpage for reference.  

The letter H

The letter H is brown, like a horse.  It's a little hard to see; that's why I don't like it that much.  Its cousin I is a lot better.  Hey, you can't blame me for playing favorites.  Some letters are just more equal than others. 







The letter I

I is amazing.  It's ice cream, really really bright ice cream.  It's all white, and in the interest of clarity, I'm going to put it against a black background.  But don't get used to it.  I is cool.  I like I.







That's all for today, folks.  Come back tomorrow if you want more, which I know you do.  You want more psychedelic letters, right?  Right?  

Well it doesn't matter, because I'm going to give them to you anyways.    

This sucks.  This sucks, this sucks, this sucks.  Why can't I be famous like all the famous people I know?  I want to become famous.  To become famous!  I will be a natural famous person, I swear I have the ego for it.  I will be so cool as a famous person, people will walk up to me and be all like "Can I have your autograph," and I'll say, "Hell yes you can, my handwriting is worth money now, and I'm going yo give you a present."  I want to be famous.  How do I do that?  Well, here are some things I can do to become famous.  

Write a book.


Doesn't work I've already tried it.  I finished a book recently, you can find it here, why am I even bothering self advertising no one reads this blog anyways my life is a lie I don't know what to do with myself anymore I'm worthless you know what suck it up self no one cares not least the legions of nobody that read this blog lord help me I'm a terrible writer.

S'cuse me there for a moment, I went on a tangent.  That was a tangent.  A real one, for sure.  I don't know anymore, don't ask me.

I don't know what else to do to become famous, honestly, besides release a hit record or something.  But I don't see myself doing that.  I guess I just wrote this blog post because I'm frustrated with myself for not writing a successful book.  I thought people would want to read my writing, and it turns out that they do, but nobody is willing to pay money for it, which kind of sucks.  I want my work to be valued above free, something that people will pay to see.  To experience.  I put a lot of effort into it, and I know that doesn't regulate value, but I can't help but hate the system which makes some books famous and others not.  You know?  What do they have that I don't?  I want to know, so that I can put together something that people will be proud to have read.  No one's going to read this, anyways.  Wow, this is just one long rant against society, against the feeling inside of the pit of my stomach that says "don't do it anymore, it's not worth it."  It's not worth it, it isn't.  And in the back of my head I'm thinking "this is it, this is going to be the blog post that will propel me to stardom."  Get real.  Really?  What is this post even about?  Getting famous?  Why do I want to get famous?

Rants aside, no, no rants aside.  I think I want to keep that.  But anyways, what was I talking about?  Oh, right.  Getting famous.  How will I be able to do that?  What do I have to do to get famous?  Just be myself?  That's wonderful.  That's amazing.  But no.  No way will that work to my advantage.  You know how it is.  People don't want to see the self that comes out when others aren't looking.  Because nobody is looking, right?  This text is just going to sit in hyperspace for eternity or something, with no one to care, nobody to read it, nobody to give it love.  What is this text, anyways?  

What is this text?  Is it the outpouring of my soul?  Is it the truth inside of me?  I don't know.  I really don't know.  Hey, I have an idea.  I'll talk about the things that I see inside of my head.  That will be pretty cool.  I think that's a good topic for a series of blog posts.  Yes, that's it!  I'll blog about my world, the world inside of my head, I'll explain the number line and everything!  Yes, that's it!  Just you wait, world, I'm going to be famous!    

Gif Storm (ramble #3)

A GIF, unlike a photo, tells a short story.  They're sweet, they're direct,

And they can be hella classy.  Here's a bunch of GIFs strung together.  See if you can find the story.  (hint: there isn't one.)

This guy? His name's NoStroy.  He's the beatiest beatnik in a country full of beat down beaters.  Beat it.  Just look at that sweet pokemon cap, those Dave Strider--

No, wait it's dirk isn't it--

Yea.  It's Dirk.  Dirk is cool, man.  Man!

I don't know what this is.  Please don't ask me what this is.  I think I'm going to have nightmares about it.  Gum will never be the same to me.  I don't even, I can't, I

I can't.  I just can't.  I can't even. 

That's all, folks.  If you'd like me to illustrate a story with GIFs, just tell me.  Otherwise, I'll go cry in a corner and hide from the gumball monster.  

He's going to eat me.  No, no, go away, gO AWAY GOAAAAA--'

Google illustrates a story (Ramble #2)

So I'm going to do an experiment.  (Apparently it will be both religious and homosexual.)

It will probably end up as a total mess.  (But damn, will it look like a sweet bike.)

 I'm going to write a story, a simple one, and then type each sentence into google.  (Each sentence will be part of a paragraph, because that is how writing works!  Yey, kids!)

 I will put the first image result beneath that sentence.  (Like Charles Bernstien did before me, with poetry, evidently.)

 I will not censor anything.  (Look at me, I am smart.  I am the stuff of motivational posters.)

 Anything can, and will, happen.  (You can say that again.)

I will explain my friend google's choice in parenthesis.  (My friend is shy.  This is how he says hello.)

So without further ado, let us begin with the story.  (Google wants to share the world with you.  Isn't that just the sweetest?  He's so thoughtful.)

Henry woke up in the morning with a mess of frizzy hair.  (So Henry is a girl.  That kind of looks like a guy.  Maybe he's a transvestite?  A cross-dresser?  I guy who like to wear bras?)

 He washed it, combed it, brushed his teeth, and grabbed everything he needed to get to work.  (Really google?  There was a picture of a baby doing the dishes in the second spot.  I mean this makes sense, I guess.  So good job.)

 He walked out the door.  (I'm sorry, Google, I didn't know you had to comply with federal regulation.  Is there anything I can do to ease the pain?)

It caught on his finger.  (Eww, Nasty.)

 He cussed and hurried on his way.  (I can't.  I just can't.  That's perfect, Google.  Absolutely breathtaking.)

 He stopped at a bus stop. (A bus stop.  We're hitting a rhythm here, keep going!)

 He waited for the bus.  (And split into his three alter-egos, the boy, his sister, and their dog.)

 The bus came. (Aawww yeaaa.)

 But it turned out that the bus driver was a demon from hell.  (oooooh we will eat your soul)

  So Henry tried to run away.  (And, um, this guy too?  No wait, is that the bus driver?  It has to be!  Just look at that face!)

 But the demon bus driver smashed his giant bus into Henry's skull.  (That's, uh, that's really dark of you, Google.)

Henry's bones were ground to dust.  (What is its, precious?)

 The demon bus driver laughed.  (And showed Henry the comic he had been working on, about his terrible childhood, and how his father Satan abused him, that if we read we would all love him for.)

He drove away into the sunset (in a sweet ride).

 The end.  (Curtains drop.)

Autopsy:

That was quite the ride.  I'm sure my friend Google here agrees.  He did such a great job, don't you think?  You should praise him by Googling cool stuff.  Here's his contact info.  Go have fun.  

Hey you. Yea, you there. The one with the hair. (ramble #1)

I'm sorry, I made assumptions.  Maybe you don't have hair.  In that case, I'm going to assume that you have a head and call you by that instead.  Hey you.  You with the head.  You, looking at this post.  I need you to look over here.  Yea, that's right.

Look right here.  At these sunglasses.  Aren't they cool?  Now, look down.  That's right.  Down.

What, did you think I was going to show you something?  Something awe-inspiring, maybe?  Something important?  Something to blow your mind?  Well, guess what.  I will.  Later.  Once I figure out what it is.  But until then, guess what,















we're going to talk about it.  The it.  The first result I got Google searching what to talk about.  I asked Google.  Google answered my prayer, the almighty Google.

I will talk about IT.

I watched a movie called IT when I was a kid.  It was really strange.  Not in that good kind of way.  More in that 'oh my god what am I watching' way.  And it wasn't this

No, it was an it that kind of looked like ET.  Maybe I'm rambling here.  But that IT had a finger that could grant any wish.  So the kids wished for lots of gold.  And then they broke their arms trying to lift it.  And I think learned a lesson about inflation.  Maybe that movie doesn't exist.  Maybe I was just dreaming.  Or hallucinating while watching ET.  I don't know.  I can't seem to find it on Google.

So, I'm done talking about it.  What now?  How about I talk about writing.  No, I'll save that for a different, non-rambling post.

So it's sunny right now.  Where I'm at.  And it shines through the tessellated crystal of the drinking glass on my desk and plays against the false wood with a subdued sort of tone that makes me want to eat ice cream.  Good ice cream, the kind that you can chew.  The kind of stuff you buy in the bargain freezer at wall-mart, that isn't really ice cream so they have to call it 'frozen dessert.'

That stuff is good.  So is frozen yogurt, and pretty much anything else that tastes like iced cream.  It's all great.  Sugar is great.  I'm going to get diabetes.  I think I'll go cry in a corner now.  See you next time.