how to be pretentious and cross-eyed

My posts have minds of their own.

Some of them are snippets from real conversations in imaginary worlds: you may call them stories, you may call them poetry, you may call them dreams; some of them are imaginary conversations with real people, snippets from arguments, fillers during lunch, observations while rambling. Some of them lean forward, twirl hair around their index finger and blink at you flirtatiously; some, quiet, ambling, nostalgic, laugh at themselves when nobody's watching; some, just looking for a quick fuck, no frills. Many are jarring, raw, wounded. Most are Saturday afternoons that can turn into either wild, vodka-filled nights or cool, whiskey filled evenings, but only hoping for an early night's sleep. (Some are hungover Sunday mornings, spent in bed with a book and a newspaper).

So you're right, there actually are some posts which don't want to talk to you - they say their piece and have their comments disabled, because that's how they like 'em. Look closely, and you'll see these. There's some that are quite sure nobody's going to talk to them, simply because they're so closed up, even I wouldn't dare to say anything further. They're pretentious little bastards, cross-eyed and sexy, quite sure of what they really are. You think I'm quirky and strange? Ha, I'm quite plain, I assure you. It's these posts that confuse you. They confuse me, just as well.


from an email i wrote to someone today (not) about why comments are disabled on my blog.

also because "on good writing days, nothing else matters."

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