Dave Matthes's Blog - Posts Tagged "blood"

"There couldn't be a verb, an adjective, a noun, a pronoun profound enough to literarily liberate the emotion, the feeling, the thought and power felt below my feet as I turned onto that forested bypass, leaving the city and suburbs of my post-adolescence behind. It was freedom without a flag, pestilence without a cure; both likewise and subverted. And in lighting the spliff held gingerly between my aged, wrinkled and dilapidated lips, my destiny was prolonged only for the better. If the night were thicker, I might cast myself into an ocean of doubt. If my headlights were dimmer I might exalt myself under the most rude of Kings. It seemed that the only obstacle on the start of my journey was merely the wind; backward and pressing it was, as the Autumn always presumed it to be. And I felt as though I might be a kite without a string, a hook without bait; yes, the only deceit at my fingertips was the dirt beneath my fingernails. This journey of mine, wherever it took me, would be my last." --- In This House We Lived and We Died

Just ordered a test print to make sure the formatting, cover design, etc. is all copafuckingcetic, and so far, everything's right on track. Looking for a mid to late 2013 release for this literary gem ;)

When everything that moves is a blur, and seconds feel like hours, the only thing that equates a long ass work day is a dude pounding your ass who just won't cum. Where's the fucking lube when ya need it?

Going from working until midnight last night to getting up at 5am to take a shit, and then having to go back into work at 6:45 is not my idea of a great weekend. And yet somehow I have time to write this shit. Shit that no one really reads yet is there for the reading should some poor asshole burden themselves with the task. But if the mantra "there's always someone out there who's got it worse than you" is true, and not some parental queef spoon fed to spoiled little shits everywhere...then I must be one unappreciative prick. Not that I give a hoo-ha.

Yesterday's opening thoughts went something like this: "Go Fuck Yourself" and "I could really go for a pineapple upside-down cake". I've yet to acquire said cake, and I still feel like I haven't told enough people to go fuck themselves. Unfortunately, even in this town, a place where rich, snooty college kids whose parents literally pay for everything, the place where I work denies my any such liberty, lest I want to be fired. I work at a convenient store...in the facilities and stock and inventory department. I've worked there for the last five or six months...and I get the feeling that the only thing convenient about it is the amount of douche-bag customers the place attracts. And if there's one thing I hate more than getting fisted by sleepless nights between raging hard-on infused work days, it's douche-bag customers.

That's all for now I guess. Nothing too substantial, nothing too equated. Then again, once these next 8 hours are slammed away in the Slave Bank, the next two days are mine to do with whatever I please. Maybe then I can get some writing done. Real writing, the good stuff. Lord knows it's only been since about April since I started this book...but recently I feel like all I do is stare at the blank page while subconsciously playing with my balls. Literally, sometimes I don't even realize it. Seconds will turn into hours, and instead of writing prose I'll look down and see my two jubblies cradled in my right hand. Paradoxical.