Today in real life marked the first day I have ever stayed home from school due to an illness. No, it isn't the swine flu, and no, I don't regret deciding not to get vaccinated; it's just a silly little head cold that made me want to fall over anytime I stood up straight. I really hope I didn't miss anything terribly important in class today. Now watch as I go to all five classes on Friday and no longer know what the hell's going on anymore. FML. On violin, with minimal squeakiness, I can play Lightly Row, Go Tell Aunt Rhody, Song of the Wind and six variations of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. HOLY MOTHER OF SPANKING MEXICAN BEANS YOU BET YOUR SORRY BEHIND I SAID SIX BECAUSE ONLY NAZIS, FURRIES, AND PEDOPHILES CAN LIVE THEIR LIVES KNOWING LESS THAN FIVE.
Today on the internets I LAUGH AND LAUGH AND LAUGH and no I'm not bitter for not being cast as the princess even though I was much better than who they selected why would you suggest such a thing? I also vow to draw all future academianspiration from this fandomsecret, which I made myself, so I guess by confessing that it isn't much of a secret anymore but who cares DEATH NOTE IS AWESOME.
Today in fiction Mizuki gets his ass kicked. That's...that's pretty much all that happened in fiction today. CAPS LOCK
Wednesday
Tuesday
Short entry is short.
Today in real life I went to work, then I came home.
Today on the internets I accomplished little more than this blog entry.
Today in fiction Tensai Generation's sixth installment is just about finished. Also, I struggle to have Hidan develop while staying in-character. Why does he have to be so hard?
Today on the internets I accomplished little more than this blog entry.
Today in fiction Tensai Generation's sixth installment is just about finished. Also, I struggle to have Hidan develop while staying in-character. Why does he have to be so hard?
Monday
I just wanna play Fallout 3.
Today in real life school was fantastically boring. Or perhaps its still fascinating and I'm the one haplessly losing interest. In order to keep myself going, I must find a novel way to encourage myself. Welcome to my new academianspiration. For some reason, I realize whenever I imagine them watching over me, the very thought drives me to study harder, because even as a non-genius, I know I could still gain their respect if I tried hard enough. Sure, it's a completely friggin' crazy reason for getting awesome grades, but whatever works, right? Right? Ah. [I smell a new Secret in the works.]
Today on the internets I recieved a glowing review (id # 3000177376) that reminds me it's all worthwhile. [Thank you for making my week, Anon. Reviews are the heroin of the writer's soul.] I also lol'd at this revelation during Anthropology class, as in 'why the heck hadn't I thought of this complication before?', 'why the heck hasn't anyone else thought of this complication before?', and 'why the heck am I thinking about the potential obstacles of time travel when I really should be paying attention to Anthropology class?' Damned dirty polygamous infanticidal apes.
Today in fiction Rorschach is about to kill me for not updating since July. After months of verbal and emotional abuse, Yuni finally starts getting upset over being rejected by her Sensei, forcing his hand to take a proper course of action. Light and Misa are becoming focal points in the new chapter, and I've doomed a character to being a servant of Hell for two millenia because of a completely selfless decision. Life's a bitch. [As the saying goes, if it were a slut, it'd be easy.]
Today on the internets I recieved a glowing review (id # 3000177376) that reminds me it's all worthwhile. [Thank you for making my week, Anon. Reviews are the heroin of the writer's soul.] I also lol'd at this revelation during Anthropology class, as in 'why the heck hadn't I thought of this complication before?', 'why the heck hasn't anyone else thought of this complication before?', and 'why the heck am I thinking about the potential obstacles of time travel when I really should be paying attention to Anthropology class?' Damned dirty polygamous infanticidal apes.
Today in fiction Rorschach is about to kill me for not updating since July. After months of verbal and emotional abuse, Yuni finally starts getting upset over being rejected by her Sensei, forcing his hand to take a proper course of action. Light and Misa are becoming focal points in the new chapter, and I've doomed a character to being a servant of Hell for two millenia because of a completely selfless decision. Life's a bitch. [As the saying goes, if it were a slut, it'd be easy.]
Sunday
A day off? In MY calendar?
Today in real life I missed out on trick-or-treating with my family for the first time ever, due to my recent move to the area and hence, me being the last person to book off Halloween night. It was depressing to miss such a tradition, yet the overall candy haul was above average even without my participation, thanks to the generosity of this new neighbourhood. I am now booking off Halloween a year in advance. Later on into the night, I took on the role of the goddamned Batman and was thrilled with the smooth gameplay, great voice acting, and every little graphic detail that went into creating the Asylum. Kudos to you, game developers; you've made quite a gem. Other than that, and for the first time in two weeks, I have absolutely nothing else to do outside the house today. Best get to cleaning and studying. Both my room and my academic mind are a fair mess right now.
Today on the internets I sldkjfsadkjfhusydfh'd. So many good posters lately, so little wall space. To think, I might actually have to give one of my wall scrolls away to make room for this. The torture! The depression! The inconceivability! щ(°Д°щ) I also found this Cardcaptors lot that I am more than willing to pay for right this minute. Have you any idea how rare those collectibles are? The Lasin Board and Clow Card Shooter alone were pulled from the Taco Bell toy lineup soon after their release in 2002 because of religious communities' complaints of their resemblance to dark magic! Dude!
Today in fiction I'm just about finished ironing out the kinks for Until Life, so that should be getting updated again on time as of next week. Hopefully. Same goes for Decent Society, although the hiatus for that one is more properly attributed to a mixture of laziness and too many more important things to do IRL. (Damn IRL.) The next chapter of Tensai Generation is coming along wonderfully, aside from the fact that I have apparently forgotten how to write angst. Me. Forgetting how to write angst. I believe the world may be coming to an end soon. Or maybe I've grown too content with my current surroundings. Note to self: be moar emo moar often, it helps you write better.
Today on the internets I sldkjfsadkjfhusydfh'd. So many good posters lately, so little wall space. To think, I might actually have to give one of my wall scrolls away to make room for this. The torture! The depression! The inconceivability! щ(°Д°щ) I also found this Cardcaptors lot that I am more than willing to pay for right this minute. Have you any idea how rare those collectibles are? The Lasin Board and Clow Card Shooter alone were pulled from the Taco Bell toy lineup soon after their release in 2002 because of religious communities' complaints of their resemblance to dark magic! Dude!
Today in fiction I'm just about finished ironing out the kinks for Until Life, so that should be getting updated again on time as of next week. Hopefully. Same goes for Decent Society, although the hiatus for that one is more properly attributed to a mixture of laziness and too many more important things to do IRL. (Damn IRL.) The next chapter of Tensai Generation is coming along wonderfully, aside from the fact that I have apparently forgotten how to write angst. Me. Forgetting how to write angst. I believe the world may be coming to an end soon. Or maybe I've grown too content with my current surroundings. Note to self: be moar emo moar often, it helps you write better.
Friday
Games and death and fantasy.
Today in real life my boss decided to put a co-worker and I at war for a super special awesome poster the store received recently. (I have the spot on my wall prim and proper and prepared and everything, right there in-between the Akatsuki and Rorschach.) Apparently, we both preordered The Master Assassin's Edition and must prove ourselves worthy of having Ezio in our room (/innuendo). Now, if this were a battle of strength or wits, and as those links are extremely related to my personal advantage, I would have kicked my competition's sorry fifteen-year-old bum from here to whatever era Assassin's Creed III will take place in, but unfortunately this war was revealed to be a matter of selling the hell out of everything our store manager tells us to. Well-played, SM. Well-played. No matter how much effort it takes, I will outsell that boy, and come November 17th, I will be taking home both my box-set of magnificence and win AND one wicked poster to boot. On an unrelated note, I also added another entry to my bucket list: to play this with true friends.
Today on the internets I officially diagnose myself helplessly addicted to Poisoned, and I don't even ship Mello/Near. Good game, Akane. Literally.
Today in fiction a horizon was born. Right now, neither Until Life nor Decent Society exist, at least not until I get my time more efficiently organized. I'm finishing the next chapter of Tensai Generation! Honest! And murder-suicide is looking like an extremely attractive option for my original series; now, to build up their characters to make the scene worth a damn.
Today on the internets I officially diagnose myself helplessly addicted to Poisoned, and I don't even ship Mello/Near. Good game, Akane. Literally.
Today in fiction a horizon was born. Right now, neither Until Life nor Decent Society exist, at least not until I get my time more efficiently organized. I'm finishing the next chapter of Tensai Generation! Honest! And murder-suicide is looking like an extremely attractive option for my original series; now, to build up their characters to make the scene worth a damn.
Late again, but still alive.
[Entry from September 9th, 2009]
My professor for Linguistics was a thin man with short, dark hair and glasses, carrying an accent I couldn’t quite place. The electronics podium for room 139 was malfunctioning. I notice the maintenance crew for this university is much more well-composed than it was for my last school, although that isn’t saying much; I’m sure this college at least has more than two of them.
“Introduction to the History of Latin America” blazes across the splash screen, and I realize I’m in the wrong class.
So much for listening to redirection notes plastered on the front of classroom doors.
I arrive a few minutes late. My actual professor has the same general characteristics as the last, minus the accent.
The Teacher’s Aide shows up even later than I. She’s trembling slightly, wide-eyed and nervous. It makes me feel better, as horrible as that may sound.
I’ve lost my direction cheat sheet. I suddenly regret not writing two copies.
The next classroom I rushed to is most likely the largest of all four. My Anthropology professor is an older woman, one who looks as if she’s been on the field--one of those experienced types, rough around the edges. She has a microphone on her, and her speech makes it obvious she’s from Montreal.
This class is the introductory session to the University’s Anthropology department. I look throughout the crowd of two hundred and can’t help but wonder how many will actually stick with this major.
I realize she’s speaking a lot about apes and monkeys. I realize ‘Primatology’ is short for ‘the study of primates’. I realize just how smart I am.
I take a seat front row center. I wonder if people consider me a keener, and soon realize I don’t really care.
My chair swivels in 37 different directions. Comfy.
My first Psychology professor is a Caucasian man identical in description as my first professor, minus the accent and glasses. He uses a laser pointer. I’ve honestly never seen that before. You’d think it would be a more obvious and convenient choice.
What is it with college professors and the Mac operating system, anyway?
He showed us a clip of the Matrix in class to express the summary of the method of the brain’s perception. That is awesome. He’s somewhat energetic, encouraging participation from an unfortunately lackadaisical classroom.
Notes from a 400-level Mechatronics class is still on the chalkboard, and I vaguely recognize the mathematics. Kind of want to switch to an Engineering major. Word around school says they’re master pranksters, not to mention their building constantly smells like peppermint.
My second Psychology professor was late. He is a larger, older man, who entered in silence with a stern expression. He was balding slightly, as all my male professors seem to be. Apparently managing hundreds of young adults in the classroom stresses the hair right out of you.
Another technical difficulty. I somehow suspect he called the area’s maintenance-woman over on purpose. That was cute. I ship them.
I was mistaken. He turns out to be a fairly jolly individual. He podcasts extra information and answers to students’ e-mails on the course website.
The class in question was an introductory session, and hence, abnormally short. I sat on the ground by the lockers outside my next classroom and ate applesauce. It was the first time I’d ever eaten in a school hallway. I felt unreasonably giddy. “So this is what normal students do.”
I notice a male eyeing me as he enters the classroom. Out of all the available seats in the room, he claims one three down from my aisle. He won’t stop staring. I smile gently at myself, pretending rather it’s the screen which is keeping me amused. A girl with a smaller waist and a shorter skirt sits next to me. My temporary admirer’s attention is newly drawn. I feel nothing.
The history professor steps in. He’s a younger man, perhaps early to mid thirties, who possessed the same stature and hairstyle as Ricky Gervais and has the voice of a motivational speaker. He makes History interesting to listen to.
All in all, it was a fascinating first day. I look forward to seeing where this semester takes me.
My professor for Linguistics was a thin man with short, dark hair and glasses, carrying an accent I couldn’t quite place. The electronics podium for room 139 was malfunctioning. I notice the maintenance crew for this university is much more well-composed than it was for my last school, although that isn’t saying much; I’m sure this college at least has more than two of them.
“Introduction to the History of Latin America” blazes across the splash screen, and I realize I’m in the wrong class.
So much for listening to redirection notes plastered on the front of classroom doors.
I arrive a few minutes late. My actual professor has the same general characteristics as the last, minus the accent.
The Teacher’s Aide shows up even later than I. She’s trembling slightly, wide-eyed and nervous. It makes me feel better, as horrible as that may sound.
I’ve lost my direction cheat sheet. I suddenly regret not writing two copies.
The next classroom I rushed to is most likely the largest of all four. My Anthropology professor is an older woman, one who looks as if she’s been on the field--one of those experienced types, rough around the edges. She has a microphone on her, and her speech makes it obvious she’s from Montreal.
This class is the introductory session to the University’s Anthropology department. I look throughout the crowd of two hundred and can’t help but wonder how many will actually stick with this major.
I realize she’s speaking a lot about apes and monkeys. I realize ‘Primatology’ is short for ‘the study of primates’. I realize just how smart I am.
I take a seat front row center. I wonder if people consider me a keener, and soon realize I don’t really care.
My chair swivels in 37 different directions. Comfy.
My first Psychology professor is a Caucasian man identical in description as my first professor, minus the accent and glasses. He uses a laser pointer. I’ve honestly never seen that before. You’d think it would be a more obvious and convenient choice.
What is it with college professors and the Mac operating system, anyway?
He showed us a clip of the Matrix in class to express the summary of the method of the brain’s perception. That is awesome. He’s somewhat energetic, encouraging participation from an unfortunately lackadaisical classroom.
Notes from a 400-level Mechatronics class is still on the chalkboard, and I vaguely recognize the mathematics. Kind of want to switch to an Engineering major. Word around school says they’re master pranksters, not to mention their building constantly smells like peppermint.
My second Psychology professor was late. He is a larger, older man, who entered in silence with a stern expression. He was balding slightly, as all my male professors seem to be. Apparently managing hundreds of young adults in the classroom stresses the hair right out of you.
Another technical difficulty. I somehow suspect he called the area’s maintenance-woman over on purpose. That was cute. I ship them.
I was mistaken. He turns out to be a fairly jolly individual. He podcasts extra information and answers to students’ e-mails on the course website.
The class in question was an introductory session, and hence, abnormally short. I sat on the ground by the lockers outside my next classroom and ate applesauce. It was the first time I’d ever eaten in a school hallway. I felt unreasonably giddy. “So this is what normal students do.”
I notice a male eyeing me as he enters the classroom. Out of all the available seats in the room, he claims one three down from my aisle. He won’t stop staring. I smile gently at myself, pretending rather it’s the screen which is keeping me amused. A girl with a smaller waist and a shorter skirt sits next to me. My temporary admirer’s attention is newly drawn. I feel nothing.
The history professor steps in. He’s a younger man, perhaps early to mid thirties, who possessed the same stature and hairstyle as Ricky Gervais and has the voice of a motivational speaker. He makes History interesting to listen to.
All in all, it was a fascinating first day. I look forward to seeing where this semester takes me.
Wednesday
Shameless self-promotion.
Today in real life I taped up the Vault Boy poster which came with my purchase of the Fallout 3 Add-On Pack (an expansion set featuring such terrific exploits as venturing through The Pitt and undertaking Operation: Anchorage). Now, if I ever got around to actually finishing the original Fallout 3 in the first damn place I might actually end up inserting this disc into my 360 one day. Either way, the poster is amazing win. I keep looking at it and manage to make out something new each time. Ha ha, I see a bunny!
Today on the internets I was in another bad mood and I ripped a poor, unsuspecting foreigner a new one. I have no regrets. Bad!fic writers must be stopped before they grow into the epitome of all which fandom despises most. Next to radical fangirls. And furries. Contrary to popular belief, normal members of fandom do not condone this behaviour; it is looked down upon universally. Of course, please keep in mind this is coming from someone who has written erotica for a Japanese children's graphic novel series, and visits /34/ sites on a regular basis. The former for great justice. The latter for the lulz. Remember, kids: shame is an emotion saved for people who possess the species of pride which is susceptible to injury.
Today in fiction Rorschach has been silenced and I'm beginning to miss his rough voice nagging in my head about how important it is to catch this criminal and how the longer I procrastinate writing the story, the further he slips from justice's grasp. I am a freak. The plane crash of doom has been written back into a main storyline, and so has the understandably over-worried parents and the black-suited men determined to reach a monetary settlement out of court. Because of my recent lapse into nostalgia, I considered writing fic for Card Captor Sakura, but the series itself is far too flawless and innocent to be tampered with. On a more ironic note, I first discovered I enjoyed the art of guro based on the gratuitous amounts of CCS fanart I found scattered throughout the Japanese fanbase. Thanks, /34/!
Today on the internets I was in another bad mood and I ripped a poor, unsuspecting foreigner a new one. I have no regrets. Bad!fic writers must be stopped before they grow into the epitome of all which fandom despises most. Next to radical fangirls. And furries. Contrary to popular belief, normal members of fandom do not condone this behaviour; it is looked down upon universally. Of course, please keep in mind this is coming from someone who has written erotica for a Japanese children's graphic novel series, and visits /34/ sites on a regular basis. The former for great justice. The latter for the lulz. Remember, kids: shame is an emotion saved for people who possess the species of pride which is susceptible to injury.
Today in fiction Rorschach has been silenced and I'm beginning to miss his rough voice nagging in my head about how important it is to catch this criminal and how the longer I procrastinate writing the story, the further he slips from justice's grasp. I am a freak. The plane crash of doom has been written back into a main storyline, and so has the understandably over-worried parents and the black-suited men determined to reach a monetary settlement out of court. Because of my recent lapse into nostalgia, I considered writing fic for Card Captor Sakura, but the series itself is far too flawless and innocent to be tampered with. On a more ironic note, I first discovered I enjoyed the art of guro based on the gratuitous amounts of CCS fanart I found scattered throughout the Japanese fanbase. Thanks, /34/!
Thursday
Libraries are now On Notice.
Today in real life I am in pain. A good pain, though. A day-after-working-out / I'm-going-to-feel-this-in-the-morning kind of pain. I regret nothing, except perhaps the way my friends stare at me whilst I peel the stickered labels off of anything and everything I purchase. I'm not entirely sure how this is at all related to the relentless burning sensation in my thighs, but I thought plucking something from my stream of consciousness would keep my mind off of aforementioned sensation, howsoever temporarily. Reading Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest may help as well, although I can't be too sure. I was forced to invest $19.95 in overdue book charges and a membership renewal in order to borrow this classic piece of literature from the library. So much for trying to improve the quality of my life by exchanging PDF files for the supposedly romantic ideal of reading from physical copies. I knew reality was overrated long before I felt the aged, fragile pages of a $20 rented book feather gently across my fingertips; I just hadn't properly come to terms with the fact until I was rendered penniless by yearly charges and back-fees. The thieves!
Today on the internets my irrational fascination with concept art has lead me to irrationally lust for things which I cannot afford right this minute. [Thieves, I say!] I thank the Lord in heaven the item's back-ordered or I would have been far too tempted to put it on my credit card, and continually trusting yourself to charge things now and pay them off later, my dear friends, is how debt is formed.
Today in fiction my mind became stuck in Ryuuzaki's over-analyzing character and I ruined(?) the ending of Donnie Darko for myself. A plane crash and its circumstances were written completely out of a plotline, yet the war-esque visuals from the protagonist's POV were stored, to be used at a later point in time. Academy Student Uzumaki Naruto finally has a female peer involved in his life who isn't a complete douchebaguette, and Rorschach is scolding me in my head for procrastinating his fanfic update. Frightening sentence fragments are frightening.
Today on the internets my irrational fascination with concept art has lead me to irrationally lust for things which I cannot afford right this minute. [Thieves, I say!] I thank the Lord in heaven the item's back-ordered or I would have been far too tempted to put it on my credit card, and continually trusting yourself to charge things now and pay them off later, my dear friends, is how debt is formed.
Today in fiction my mind became stuck in Ryuuzaki's over-analyzing character and I ruined(?) the ending of Donnie Darko for myself. A plane crash and its circumstances were written completely out of a plotline, yet the war-esque visuals from the protagonist's POV were stored, to be used at a later point in time. Academy Student Uzumaki Naruto finally has a female peer involved in his life who isn't a complete douchebaguette, and Rorschach is scolding me in my head for procrastinating his fanfic update. Frightening sentence fragments are frightening.
Friday
I need to work less and play more video games.
Today in real life I reconsidered the idea of giving up writing forever to dedicate all my free time to Fallout 3 and Diablo 2 upon realizing that if I continued down this path I would end up with nothing more than frustrating level caps and the ability to mow down homicidal bipedal cows, whereas if I continued with my writing I might get an actual book deal which might garner an actual fanbase which might make me actual money. I still think "Saviour of Megaton" and "Three-time Slayer of Satan" looks more impressive on a resumé, but you can't really help the world. Speaking of jobs, Watchmen placards were received by my workplace today in lieu of its pending DVD release [insert squee here]. Of course I took one home with me. A close friend of mine suggested I put it under my pillow so that I could say I slept with Rorschach every night; she believes she can get away with this statement because she rides Edward Cullen every morning, her bike which incidentally shares the name of a titular character of some literary series I can't quite remember the title of. Either way, let the record show that Rorschach, along with Kamina from Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann, Nagato Yuki from The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, Hidan from Naruto, L from Death Note, and Thomas Harris' Hannibal Lecter, is nothing more than a character!crush, and I am not one of those weirdo fangirls who would totally have sex with them if they were real. I just admire their characters. Honest. Given, if I ever had an older sibling, Kamina would be him. And we would break through ceilings and pierce the heavens and probably both end up getting arrested for the stunts we pulled but come out of it laughing our asses off anyway. Just saying.
Today on the internet Blogger's auto-save feature failed me and I had to rewrite this entire entry from scratch. I shall discuss the fail of my university's website tomorrow.
Today in fiction Rorschach's mindset takes over where my empathetic imagination fails, and his method of thought is beginning to frighten me in the most wonderful way possible. My novel has a definitive beginning and a definitive end; all I need to do is create a definitive middle and I'm golden. The art of the Australian school uniform does not go unappreciated, and my original characters are having a difficult time staying IC. How would he react if placed in such a supernatural situation? I feel like I'm writing fanfiction here.
Today on the internet Blogger's auto-save feature failed me and I had to rewrite this entire entry from scratch. I shall discuss the fail of my university's website tomorrow.
Today in fiction Rorschach's mindset takes over where my empathetic imagination fails, and his method of thought is beginning to frighten me in the most wonderful way possible. My novel has a definitive beginning and a definitive end; all I need to do is create a definitive middle and I'm golden. The art of the Australian school uniform does not go unappreciated, and my original characters are having a difficult time staying IC. How would he react if placed in such a supernatural situation? I feel like I'm writing fanfiction here.
Thursday
Made you read.
Today in real life marked my twin sisters' fifth birthday, necessitating the obligatory cake-and-present ceremony at the fine establishment for children's entertainment, Chuck E. Cheese's. My family and I had thought it best to make most of the occasion for as long as a trip to Chuck E. Cheese's was still the girls' idea of having fun. There was Hawaiian pizza and Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream cake involved, and not much can go wrong once those two party-makers enter the picture. We all had a wonderful time. Much video and photographic evidence of my presence had been taken, almost perfectly fashioned for my alibi. Life is good.
Today on the internet I have decided to accept Twitter into my life. I used to believe that a website dedicated entirely to Facebook statuses served little to no prevention from inevitable boredom, but now I've come to realize exactly why use of the site is so popular. The idea that someone out there in the big, wide, nasty world actually gives a rat's ass about what you're doing at any given point in time throughout the day gives the user such an inflated sense of gratuitious vainglory they can't help but become drawn to repeating the very process anytime something remotely interesting (or boorishly uninteresting) happens to them. On the other hand, people who enjoy reading other user's Tweets are lead to think real-time blurbs and spontaneous sentence-long emotional gushes are giving them insight to that individual's processes of thought, hence arousing a warm-and-fuzzy feeling within the reader which assures them they are a special little snowflake for continually being allowed to see that far into someone else's mind without ever having to interact with another human being. Twitter serves as the crack cocaine for the attention-junkie side of the human soul. Withdrawal symptoms include attempting to make daily life more fascinating through mental literary narration and gaining an inexplicable need to vocalize one's every thought.
Today in fantasy several Akatsuki members from Naruto were cock-blocked by another unexpected scarcity of writer's inspiration, and Rorschach of Watchmen fame hit a woman who totally deserved it.
Today on the internet I have decided to accept Twitter into my life. I used to believe that a website dedicated entirely to Facebook statuses served little to no prevention from inevitable boredom, but now I've come to realize exactly why use of the site is so popular. The idea that someone out there in the big, wide, nasty world actually gives a rat's ass about what you're doing at any given point in time throughout the day gives the user such an inflated sense of gratuitious vainglory they can't help but become drawn to repeating the very process anytime something remotely interesting (or boorishly uninteresting) happens to them. On the other hand, people who enjoy reading other user's Tweets are lead to think real-time blurbs and spontaneous sentence-long emotional gushes are giving them insight to that individual's processes of thought, hence arousing a warm-and-fuzzy feeling within the reader which assures them they are a special little snowflake for continually being allowed to see that far into someone else's mind without ever having to interact with another human being. Twitter serves as the crack cocaine for the attention-junkie side of the human soul. Withdrawal symptoms include attempting to make daily life more fascinating through mental literary narration and gaining an inexplicable need to vocalize one's every thought.
Today in fantasy several Akatsuki members from Naruto were cock-blocked by another unexpected scarcity of writer's inspiration, and Rorschach of Watchmen fame hit a woman who totally deserved it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
