A fucking hitchhiker. I don't believe it.
Okay, where the fuck am I?
This map has to be fucking useless. There isn't a stretch of road that even FUCKING REMOTELY resembles this anywhere. There isn't. It's just straight fucking road going on to infinity that isn't on the fucking map.
Wait...
No. No. FUCK THAT. Fuck that shit.
god damn it this is not fucking happening it is not
Showing posts with label This isn't happening. Show all posts
Showing posts with label This isn't happening. Show all posts
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Right. So.Calm now? Yeah. Calm now. Good.
Woke up yesterday, pulled the car over to the side of the highway to sleep the night before.
I woke up this morning and someone had delivered mail.
MAIL. To a fucking car, in the middle of nowhere. Just dropped it on the hood. Asshole even put a fucking flag on it. Like one of those little swing-y arm things from the mailboxes? Duct taped to the side of the thing.
Same package as last time. The exact, same fucking package. The one that I left in Ottawa. No. Nope. Calm. Incredibly fucking calm. Okay. Good.
Yellow envelope. Like what they sometimes send airmail, with the bubble-wrap on the inside.
No, I'm not opening it. It's in a ditch somewhere south of London.
Woke up yesterday, pulled the car over to the side of the highway to sleep the night before.
I woke up this morning and someone had delivered mail.
MAIL. To a fucking car, in the middle of nowhere. Just dropped it on the hood. Asshole even put a fucking flag on it. Like one of those little swing-y arm things from the mailboxes? Duct taped to the side of the thing.
Same package as last time. The exact, same fucking package. The one that I left in Ottawa. No. Nope. Calm. Incredibly fucking calm. Okay. Good.
Yellow envelope. Like what they sometimes send airmail, with the bubble-wrap on the inside.
No, I'm not opening it. It's in a ditch somewhere south of London.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
its reel real I mean it's really all actually FUCK fuck fuck fuck fuck
it took an hour to calm the fuck down relatively fucking speaking
there doesn't seem to be much point in beating around the bush so let'ss out with it
the fckuing fucking Slender man
feel like someones replaced my bones with bits of lead pipe
rusty spiky frozen fucking jgagged bits of lead pipe
sososoooso much fucking running running like you would not believe
i was out taking photos
no you wont see these ones
iive deleted them
fFuck okay where was i it shard to type im still fucking shaking its been five hooours and im still fukcing shaking WHHat tthe fuck the woods righ was out at that woodlot snaaappign some pphotos and i was looking at one of the treees look im trying not to wax peotic here but... worrds dontt exactly work rhigt i cant do 'just the fucking facts'''
needd ot warm up
How did that take an hour? How the fuck.
An hour to calm my fucking hands down.
Going to regret punching the wall. pathetic
Keep fuckng writing dumbass. The tree?
It's an odd looking tree. I've tried getting photos of it before, but they don't turn out well. Its fucking annoying because I can see what the photo should look like but it never comes out quite right and i'm getting stide tracked. No sense in not trying again though, right? So the camera comes up, viewfinder to the eye. And, in the space between where I see the tree directly, and where I start looking through the lens somewhere in that moment
It doesn't make any fucking sense.
I can't explain it. I don't suppose there's a point in even fucuking trying to explain it. In that blink of an eye, where before there's nothing but empty space between me and the tree? He's right fucking there. Out of fucking nowhere. It's not like someone just stepped out from behind a fucking tree, there's not enough fucking cover. Not with the fucking leaves off and... fuck.
Doing better with this calming down thing now. Only took thirty minutes. Where the fuck were we?
Right. There he is. And it's just... cold. There's nothing to read off of. No body language, no facial expression. Like a fucking dressmaker's mannequin. Like trying to get an expression out of a fucking tree. The temperature drops, just for an instant. The kind of cold that takes the breath right out of you when you try to get your breath.
I wonder, if this is how an animal feels when it finds itself in front of something more dangerous? Every bit of me starts screaming to get the fuck out of there but my legs dont move. icant fucking move. I blink. He it moves. Moves isn't the right word. Moving implies... something. Action. This was like... moving, without action. He's simply there. Closer now. Shaking, it feels like my legs are about to give out. And the cold... like having ice in your veins. Flowing, ice.
Click. The shutter on the camera. Did I psuh it?
Doesnt matter. The cold is gone. Broken. I can run. Right into the street. Don't know how I didn't get hit by a car. I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Like... a big spring that someone had wound all the way up. Not until I was warm. Still not warm. Suppose I should keep running.
it took an hour to calm the fuck down relatively fucking speaking
there doesn't seem to be much point in beating around the bush so let'ss out with it
the fckuing fucking Slender man
feel like someones replaced my bones with bits of lead pipe
rusty spiky frozen fucking jgagged bits of lead pipe
sososoooso much fucking running running like you would not believe
i was out taking photos
no you wont see these ones
iive deleted them
fFuck okay where was i it shard to type im still fucking shaking its been five hooours and im still fukcing shaking WHHat tthe fuck the woods righ was out at that woodlot snaaappign some pphotos and i was looking at one of the treees look im trying not to wax peotic here but... worrds dontt exactly work rhigt i cant do 'just the fucking facts'''
needd ot warm up
How did that take an hour? How the fuck.
An hour to calm my fucking hands down.
Going to regret punching the wall. pathetic
Keep fuckng writing dumbass. The tree?
It's an odd looking tree. I've tried getting photos of it before, but they don't turn out well. Its fucking annoying because I can see what the photo should look like but it never comes out quite right and i'm getting stide tracked. No sense in not trying again though, right? So the camera comes up, viewfinder to the eye. And, in the space between where I see the tree directly, and where I start looking through the lens somewhere in that moment
It doesn't make any fucking sense.
I can't explain it. I don't suppose there's a point in even fucuking trying to explain it. In that blink of an eye, where before there's nothing but empty space between me and the tree? He's right fucking there. Out of fucking nowhere. It's not like someone just stepped out from behind a fucking tree, there's not enough fucking cover. Not with the fucking leaves off and... fuck.
Doing better with this calming down thing now. Only took thirty minutes. Where the fuck were we?
Right. There he is. And it's just... cold. There's nothing to read off of. No body language, no facial expression. Like a fucking dressmaker's mannequin. Like trying to get an expression out of a fucking tree. The temperature drops, just for an instant. The kind of cold that takes the breath right out of you when you try to get your breath.
I wonder, if this is how an animal feels when it finds itself in front of something more dangerous? Every bit of me starts screaming to get the fuck out of there but my legs dont move. icant fucking move. I blink. He it moves. Moves isn't the right word. Moving implies... something. Action. This was like... moving, without action. He's simply there. Closer now. Shaking, it feels like my legs are about to give out. And the cold... like having ice in your veins. Flowing, ice.
Click. The shutter on the camera. Did I psuh it?
Doesnt matter. The cold is gone. Broken. I can run. Right into the street. Don't know how I didn't get hit by a car. I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Like... a big spring that someone had wound all the way up. Not until I was warm. Still not warm. Suppose I should keep running.
Count the coincidences
This can't be happening. It just can't.
Count the fingers on one hand, see if you're dreaming.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Thumb.
Four fingers and a thumb. The thumb's not a finger because it's opposable.
One of these things is not like the others.
One of these things just doesn't belong.
Did I see that? Is the lack of sleep finally getting to me?
Count the fingers on one hand, see if you're dreaming.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Thumb.
Four fingers and a thumb. The thumb's not a finger because it's opposable.
One of these things is not like the others.
One of these things just doesn't belong.
Did I see that? Is the lack of sleep finally getting to me?
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