THE TENTATIVE MOTION MOTHERFUCKERS

There are little bits of grass on the floor, and also little bits of dirt. There might be little bits of bugs in the little bits of dirt, and also little bits of hotdog buns. The walls are moderately damp. The air has an undeniable and palpable weight to it. Men are standing in their sports uniforms in a circle. They are moving their limbs jerkily, and running in place a little bit. They are doing this in order to indicate that they are "pumped," or, rather, to communicate the sentiment of "being pumped." Some of the men move to the rhythm of "Eye of the Tiger," which is playing in their heads at slightly different tempoes. No one really notices. One man moves his arms in a "pumping motion" in order to indicate that he is "pumping." He shortly changes to the jerking of the others because he is done "pumping." He is "pumped". They are "pumped". There is a camaraderie in the air for all who are "pumped", and it is proliferated to the same degree as the humidity. The men take in their camaraderie. The men are further "pumped," and are propelled beyond the previous level to which they were "pumped."

this is an excerpt from my memoir
it's a work in progress
it's called

SHITHEADS

"I think that you are full of shit."
"What?" Christian distracted himself with the menu of a trendy bistro. "Oh, okay" kind of leaked out of his mouth as Charles's statement sank in.
"I think that you are full of shit and you are a fucking lunatic." The pitch and overall intent of the words were consistent with Charles's neutral facial expression, but not with the words themselves.
"I know, I heard you," and he had.
"Oops." Charles's cheeks flushed for some reason. He put his fingers near his mouth. He discreetly looked at his armpits.
"What would you folks like tonight?" The waiter's cheerful facial expression didn't belie his stealth.
"I'm tired," thought Charles, but instead he said "I want a goddamn centipede." The waiter nodded and wrote it down on his hand. Christian turned into an alien and said something in an alien language and the waiter wrote it down too. Then the waiter turned into an alien.
"Turn into an alien or I'll kill you" said an alien who was walking by.
"I think that you are full of shit." The alien's feelings were hurt and he turned back into a poodle or something. Christian alien guy also turned normal.
Charles looked at Christian, and noticed that he had little bits of dandruff in his eyebrows. He wondered if the dandruff was eyebrow dandruff or head dandruff that fell into Christian's eyebrows. Charles wondered what would happen if dandruff was alien shit, and then an alien was taking a shit on Christian's head. Charles looked away. There was alien shit on Christian's head when he looked back, and also on his eyebrows. Charles didn't know if the alien had shitted directly onto Christian's eyebrows or if he had taken a shit on his head and it dripped down.
"Hey here's your food, bye." kind of fell out of the waiter's mouth like lower case letters and he set down a plate of waffles for the two rascals.
"Thank you" said an elderly woman who was talking on the phone.
"You're welcome" said the phone; Charles was on the phone with the elderly woman. The waiter had three faces now. They all had the same mouth, which continued around the whole head. Christian would have wondered what would happen if the waiter opened his mouth, but he had an alien on his head and he was also pretty tired. The waiter's left face wore a very grim facial expression and grunted. The other faces didn't do anything.

feel very tired
pretty sure i feel like this all the time
why do i have 150 hits
this is depressing content

wondering about the state of the blogosphere
causes me to feel more lethargic

wish i was one of those people who
felt angsty, wrote poems
feel like anything i write is basically
a blog post about being tired

feel too tired to even tag this post

realized that my blog posts can be turned into 'quirky/marketable short stories' by simply replacing 'i' and other related pronouns, etc., with an animal of my choice
feel like this could be a new gimmick

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the story of reginald the street savvy wombat

reginald the street savvy wombat woke up today.
reginald the street savvy wombat wombat didn't brush his teeth.
reginald the street savvy wombat forgot to put in his retainer last night, so he didn't have to take it out.
reginald the street savvy wombat's time spent on dental hygiene was kept to a minimum today.
reginald the street savvy wombat procured a single stick of trident brand chewing gum with xylitol, and began chewing the single stick of trident brand chewing gum with xylitol.
reginald the street savvy wombat felt a slight craving for breakfast, then, upon encountering the prospect of 'having to cook' quickly abandoned this craving.
reginald the street savvy wombat checked his email and was unfazed by the conspicuous absence of important messages, as it was only 8:30 AM.
reginald the street savvy wombat wished he had a job.
reginald the street savvy wombat reached into his pocket and took out his wallet.
reginald the street savvy wombat felt a little bit sad and also 'like he needed a job'

the trunk dwelling man

the trunk dwelling man lives in your trunk. the trunk dwelling man eats the invisible airborne food particles that waft out of grocery bags through inhalation, like a basking shark. the trunk dwelling man has a special set of filters so that he can maintain a strict vegan lifestyle. the trunk dwelling man plays your instruments when you leave them in the car. the trunk dwelling man picks up your things and puts them precisely where you left them. the trunk dwelling man can't over heat. the trunk dwelling man breathes exhaust, but he also breathes regular air. the trunk dwelling man tells your mom when you swear in the car.

the story of josephine the snapping turtle

josephine the snapping turtle buys you size large t shirts because she wants you to be muscular and macho, but she doesn't want to tell you. josephine the snapping turtle finds your size small t shirts and donates them to good will. sometimes josephine the snapping turtle buys you muscle milk. you don't drink it, but she buys more anyway. the muscle milk piles up by the laundry room because it doesn't fit in the fridge anymore. you have a fridge filled with muscle milk from 2005, as well as a hallway filled with muscle milk from 2006-9

feel vague feelings of hunger
feel like the last time i ate was ~15 minutes ago/seems 'nonsensical'
feel like substituting catharsis for hunger///this is how i feel right now:
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one morning lawrence woke up to a gelatinous disc pounding weed whacker rhythms in his head. lawrence got up and made a cup of coffee, then threw it out and made tea because coffee instigates his acid reflux. his dog barked, and lawrence kicked his face in. his dog's face was kicked in. lawrence put him on the couch. he was dead. lawrence went to his room.

his brother entered his room with a maglite brand flash light and wanted to hit him with it to see if it hurt.
"shut up or else i will kill you" lawrence said.
"what?" he replied. "oh."
"shut up" lawrence said, and so did his eyebrows
"i know"
"oops"
he left, and lawrence went downstairs. the dog was still there, and he was slightly bloated with gases and things. lawrence petted him and then went outside and climbed a tree. then he took the train into the city with two of his friends. lawrence felt depressed so he told one of his friends that he needed to go to the bathroom and throw up.
"can you wait a while? there isn't one nearby" she said
"yeah, i guess i can hold it in" lawrence said
his other friend didn't say anything
about fifteen minutes later they found a bathroom and lawrence went inside. lawrence felt awkward and made a few half-assed attempts at gagging, then washed his hands in the sink and paced around. as an afterthought, he put water in his hair and on his skin so it looked like he had been sweating, and he flushed the toilet.he spun around a few times to create the illusion of disorientation, then left the bathroom stumbling.
"are you ok?" his friend asked
"yeah i guess" lawrence said
"did you throw up?" she asked
"a little"
lawrence went home early and sat alone on the train. when lawrence got back home, the dog's ribs were poking through and his muscles showed in certain places.

this morning lawrence woke up and there was a squirrel on his window sill. he looked like an alien and lawrence sat extremely still under the covers for a few minutes. lawrence eventually got up and then sat on the floor for a number of hours with a worried facial expression hoping someone would look in and ask what was wrong. this ultimately proved a fruitless endeavor and lawrence retreated downstairs again. the dog had decayed and now he was an affectionate red spot on the couch. lawrence ate a cup of yogurt and read the newspaper.
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i think that lawrence is probably 'me', and the dog is my strained relationship with croissants

feel like maybe my blog needs more statistically relevant and demographically appealing charts, also some sociologically significant pictures

sometimes i think that i am a "very creative" person
but i don't feel comfortable referring to myself as such
maybe if i created more/more meaningful things i could feel comfortable
but am afraid of judgment/mildly to moderately harsh peer review/at what level of acclaim can you consider yourself a "poet/artist/other legitimate creative figure"

feel like maybe i should be more open about my feelings
but hide behind a cloak of ironic meta references, etc
feel like maybe openly referring to my own tactics will make people think i am using them, or maybe think about what i feel/say/do/think
feel like i don't know which feelings are mine and which i pretend to have
and, if i pretend to have them,
why would i do that///seems stupid

(feel like maybe the key to becoming a fixture of the blogosphere is to generate actual/typical content/talk about life events/write something "creative")

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feel like i won't fit in at my college
because everyone else is a bro

feel like they like to party/drink
but i will drink alone or something, if at all

feel like i am not going to have very many friends
but maybe the education will make up for it

feel like the only one majoring/minoring in my fields of study
because everyone else is into sociology/psychology

feel like people who are into those fields
are probably pseudointellectuals

feel like their facebook pages list interests that aren't their real interests
but are calculated to fit into the sociology/psychology student archetype (ie the pseudointellectual)

feel like they say they like things like "people" or "life" or "philosophy"
or that they are "a walking contradiction"/"very deep"/"interesting"

feel like if i did this i would maybe mean it as a sarcastic jab at this type of person
but they are not self aware enough to be capable of this sort of thing

feel like i am too interesting/unique/self-aware for friends next year