these glasses don't miss their frames, like these days don't miss their rest.

actually, i might be lying a little.
i do miss my rest, but i like blitzing through existence at a pace like a comet, a pace like stealth. at least for this chapter of my life.

am not incredibly well-versed on the etiquette of acquiring a man's attention while he is in serious conversation with guitar hero on wii, so i hovered by the couch & waited until jonesy (big boss man) died before i spat out my, "hi, you said last week you wanted to have a chat with me?"

this is a man i have no qualms about working for. there were pleasantries exchanged, there always are - he asked about my background & i found out about the company's humble begins. then he said that he's excited to have me on the team; he likes my work ethic & how i had the initiative to approach him for a talk.

as if landing a job i enjoy in the industry i adore is not karmic generosity enough, jones basically said that he wants me to get as much fulfillment from this job as i can, & if that means loitering around to take advantage of the studio space for my personal benefit, or borrowing the hi-tech equipment, or tagging along on the various shoots, then so be it. also, if i decide to up my hours & come in more days a week, this decision is also at my disposal. this is much like shoving a hundred dollars into my fist & dropping me off outside a 5dorra all-you-can-eat buffet & telling me that calories don't matter anymore because they go straight to the places that matter. like the boobs & the brains. seriously.

i heard surrealism was an art form, & if that's the case, i'm swimming in a canvas at an auction with too many zeros on the starting price.

anyway, i'm writing prose again in the margins of notebooks, graffitiing words in the walls of my head. shame that i couldn't do it of my own accord; it had to take writing prompts from narrative writing class to get me going. still, momentum is movement nonetheless, & the class tutor likes how "daring" the voice in my pieces are.

"You've fed her enough clichés & honeyed prose, and it’s a good thing she’s no diabetic. Recently, you started throwing that elusive love word into the mixture, and just like she’s always been cautious & sparing with the butter when she bakes, she starts to abandon her steadfast conviction, the routine inhibition."
an excerpt from, my story 'some kind of everyday apathy'

i also think she's being too polite & teacherly to call me weird. she wants to; i can feel it.
goodnight.

Posted in: on Tuesday, August 26, 2008 at at 11:21 PM