Dear Lucky Individuals,
So I am currently sitting in a coffee shop stealing wireless internet so that I can talk to all of you. Ok, to be fair, I did buy a cup of coffee and the internet is free anyway so I can’t really consider it stealing (which depresses me more than you would think). The coffee is mediocre but the staff is really nice and they gave me a free sample of some coffee cake (which was better than the coffee) so I’m not completely unhappy. Also, they don’t have skim milk here. I don’t know why they don’t have skim milk, but they don’t. They just have half-and-half and whole milk, and lately I have been exclusively drinking skim milk for some reason unknown to even myself. Bob Dylan is singing, “It ain’t no use in turnin’ on your light, babe. That light I never knowed” and playing some really sweet harmonica. And no, I don’t mean that Bob is actually here performing (I think he’s outgrown the coffee shop circuit) but it is playing over the radio. Ok, that was probably really obvious. Whatever. Anyway, ‘Don’t Think Twice It’s Alright’ is playing and I really do love this song. It’s probably my favorite pre-electric Bob song (I’m assuming that this song is before he went electric, but to be honest, I don’t know that much about the life and career of Robert Dylan. It’s not like he’s Thom Yorke. And this parenthetical statement applies to the following sentence). My favorite, of course, is Hurricane. And it has just dawned on me that I haven’t heard that song in a long time…….Wait, what the fuck was I just talking about before the Bob tangent? Oh yeah, coffee shop. So I’m still sitting here in this coffee shop drinking my coffee, fucking blogging away. It seems like most of the people here are yuppies (I am in Cary, NC) and I get the feeling that most of them are probably thinking of me, “look at this fucking hipster with his fucking cardigan and fucking red flannel shirt and fucking leather boots that contradict his fucking vegetarian beliefs, fucking drinking some coffee, complaining about the lack of skim milk, blogging away. He fucking biked up here with his fucking environmentally-friendly bullshit excuse for not having a fucking car.” Whoa! that was a very profane quotation. I can’t imagine that anybody is judging me that harshly here, or that anybody even notices that I am here, but there just might be someone like that, although they probably won’t use the word ‘fuck’ and its various forms as often as I. Alright, this paragraph is becoming more than longer than I intended. In the words of Colin Greenwood, “I’m rambling.”
So there was some semblance of a point in this post (besides an excuse to write ‘fuck’ sixteen times) and I should get around to it. The point, I think, was to report how my 30 days project has been going. It has been going pretty well. I’m writing some interesting things but I’ve been running out of things to write (obvious in the last couple of days’ poems) so I’ve been coming up with unique ways to generate ideas. For instance, day 9 was taken directly from a piece of monologue that I wrote for a short story that I never got around to finishing. Is it cheating? Probably. Do I care? Not a bit. And the next day was much worse; it’s just a string of random words in alphabetical order that were taken from street signs (one word from each sign I saw until I filled up an entire page of my handy-dandy pocket notebook; there were very strict rules) while walking around downtown Raleigh at night. This was done partly out of a lack of ideas and hastiness, since I hadn’t written anything for the day and it was already 10:30 pm and I was out on the town with friends, and I was thinking that I’ll never be able to write something while walking down the street. Then I and my good friend Anthony came up with the idea of taking words from street signs (I love street signs). I could have waited until I got somewhere to sit down to actually generate something a bit more conventional, but I thought, “I don’t know if this can be considered poetry, but I don’t see why it can’t. And frankly, I don’t give a fuck.”
So there’s the seemingly uninteresting stories behind two of my poems. The stories behind the rest of them are equally, if not not more, uninteresting. Anyway, I’ve noticed since I’m a terrible procrastinator that I usually end up writing and posting the days poem after 10 or 11 pm. It reminds me a lot of school. It’s like having an essay for Spanish that has to be uploaded by 5 o’clock and at 4 I stop reading wikipedia articles and rush to write about the similarities between the cultures of Mexico and Spain. It won’t be very good but at least it will be done because the difference between a 70 and a 0 is much more than the difference between a 70 and a 95. It should be noted that I have never taken a Spanish course since the fifth grade and I was merely speculating as to what an essay for a Spanish class might be. Alright, I’m rambling again.
So there’s the up and up on the whole 30 days project. I’m confident in myself that it will be followed through to February as planned, seeing as I have completed a third of it already, and I will really try to upload a poem everyday (thank god the day ends at midnight). If you’ve read this far (I applaud you), you’re probably wondering when this is going to end. The answer: very soon. Just a few more things to do.
‘fuck’ counter (including this one): 16
radiohead references: 4
parenthetical asides: 13
And at that, I bid you adieu and apologize for the profanity in this post (I really like the word fuck). I will see you in the next life.