allseeingeye's New Writeups

February 29, 2012 (log)

2012-02-29T21:29:32Z

I haven't written any love letters to the dead in a long time, but a leap day is a special kind of day. A calender-ic freak that appeals to me past all the hard won layers of sloth and self aggrandizement. This is a milestone. A marker on the merciless march to oblivion.

All I want from this life is to make something that will live beyond me. It's a basic, base and infinitely hard/sad goal. How many layers of life have come and gone before us? More lives than we can fathom. More forgotten days than could ever really exist. We live in the ash heap of history.

E2, or my perception of what it is, makes me dream of past glories. It's a frame of reference that belonged to the generation before me on here, and likely will to the ones past me. We all time travel in our little bubbles till we pop.

Momento Mori, Omnium Vanitas.

My brother got a kitten in 1997. I met my wife in 1997. Today, that cat is at a veterinarian, possibly at the…

May 9, 2007 (person)

2007-05-09T14:56:49Z

I'm going to say some nice things about GentlemanJim, like RoguePoet did yesterday, if only because I like a challenge.

"Why?", you ask? "Should I call the police?", you also ask. "This is clearly a hostage situation." you decide.

No, not really. No hostages exist here except the ones I've built up in my head over the course of "knowing" GJim on e2.

The fact of the matter is I decided that I knew him based on what he wrote here on this webhole, pretty much anonymously. Which, if you think of it, is patently insane. If you read what I wrote in the catbox archive, you would argue that I should be committed. Well, even moreso than before.

Also, I'm doing it more for me than for anybody else. That's my secret for writing. I'm my favorite audience. I imagine that is true of most people.

Lastly, it is just a part of my stereotypical Canadian makeup to find fault in myself for not really liking somebody. And at first,…

Aspects of Hyborian Age that may be new to you (idea)

2007-03-29T14:19:35Z

I had been a reaver of the Northlands for quite some time. And, as a child, my mother had purchased a wild southern beast called a tiger for me to enjoy. Part of that afternoon of bloody combat included a warm, wonderful rendition of "Do you how much of me can you save from being crammed into my bloodfulled maw of serrated teeth", screamed by a woman whose name I now forget.

What it amounted to was the fact that I was at a loose end between blood oaths to avenge, battling the former and listening to the latter and had very little money, but I was burned out. So on the spur of a moment type whim, I'd decided I was going to throw a week's worth of clothes into a knapsack and take the first caravan to Zamora. I decided this deep in the night. Within the turn of an hourglass I'd walked to the caravan tent, gold coin in hand, and we were off.

The makeup of the caravan on the Cimmerian side of the border was 100% barbarian. When we crossed over in Nemedia, the…

March 5, 2007 (idea)

2007-03-05T16:24:30Z

Tips for Tourists in daylogs with running jokes

Milk it until it's dry then milk it some more. People love this stuff! That goes double for lard arsed Caucasians.

You see what I did there? I know you did.

tiny alien ideas sprout in his brain, like baby incisors erupting from his testicles (idea)

2007-02-16T14:57:41Z

So I'm in the library and I'm exchanging glances with this cute little gal with dirty blonde hair.

The flywheels click and spin, making their tinny rings. This is how I imagine my brain working. Like a tiny factory making thoughts like cheap furniture that you have to assemble with an allen wrench. You just know that they are grinding up rain forests or something else they shouldn't, like coral reefs or icebergs, to make their press board warehouse wonders. Nothing at IKEA is made in Sweden. I would hate to have the word dirty in the descriptor of my hair color. Like brunettes are filthy. A blonde thought that up. Their smarter than they let on. It's a conspiracy. The blondes secretly rule. Wasn't the Aryan Super Nazi type usually blonde. My God. We lost the war! Erotomania. That's what they call it when you project desire on any attractive person you happen upon casually. I do this all the time. I wish I could drink champagne from her belly button.
…

Sammie, you misguided slut, I love you. (idea)

2007-02-07T18:20:47Z

Rolling the ember of my cigarette across your back, I wonder why it's all like this. Nobody ever imagines all the nooks and crannies their shitty life will have. Minimum wage slavery dashed with self abusive boozing. It's a rut and a pattern and a fucking Hollywood lifestyle. Nothing else to do. Everything else is too far and expensive and hard and scary. That university up on the hill is mocking me, like the Raven in that story. I read it in high school to sound smart for some girl that I can't remember now. Ida something. Sort of a small town kind of pretty, the kind that doesn't stack up well in the city. I can hardly remember anything about her except that Cash. Mere. Sweater...
...

Yeah. I still see that sweater in my dreams sometimes. Unattainable. Story of my fucking life. Yours too.

I don't know if you're gonna live through the night or what. I found you in the bathroom, drunk or high or something. Mostly dressed, very committed to…