Mighter than the Sword

INTRODUCTION
12/20/05-Grand Royal Hotel, Seattle, WA.
“Say, from whence you owe this strange intelligence? Or why upon this blasted heath you stop our way? With such prophetic greeting?” Macbeth often rambled unwillingly, incoherently, and in sometimes unreadable fashion. This example was another one of those instances. Haven’t you ever seen an author control their character past a point in which the character would like to be controlled?
And of course, there was me. The man who was easily controlled, a bastard for my author who envisioned me apparently, as a chocolate-skinned, dark-head, wishing to be shot. He gave me a squeamish voice, pimpled-over my face, and ensured that his endearing public would think poorly of me.
However, his attempts to be a control-freak lead to his untimely death. So instead of putting me in the role of Juliet’s Romeo, or even making me a young Anakin Skywalker who catches drift of the Dark Side, and follows suite. You see, these are all boring characters. Instead of being a repetitive author, my creator gave me options. Like most great characters, I was made a writer. A writer residing in Seattle. A reporter living underneath the roof of a grand apartment, in the shifty parts of downtown Seattle. And I was given a labtop. Considering this a gift, I realized that my creator wished for me to write about him. Instead, I choose to write about myself, which is about the most thoughtful thing a man can do these days.
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DAY ONE
11/23/05-Grand Royal Hotel, Seattle, WA.
What does it feel like to be born without a mother? It gave me empty sensations at first, soon followed by nausea, which I may or may not be familiar with at this point. But I have identified with my problems, and that might be my first step to failure. Having been alive for no more than fifteen minutes however, I’ve found something of an electronic device which will let me record messages (such as this).
Walking into the pure resemblance of a kitchen I realize it cannot be American as my hunger cannot be fed by any item in there, without my feeling scripted, and lackadaisical. Crossing my legs and humming a chorus to the cars passing on by outside of my apartment, I took right to this chair. It felt delicious. Hotly ‘saporous’ ‘like coitus’. How lovely those two words sound together. Their aesthetic pleasure being more important than my drive to find out just exactly what they mean.
I wonder to myself if my Author wrote me in as an uneducated High School Dropout because he didn’t have enough potential to make me into anything more than what he is now. This whole situation is very strange. More tinges of arriving curiosity! Exploration. Lifting my right leg off of the other, I approached a dimly lit room in the hallway with the door left slightly ajar. I swung it wide open amused with my findings.
A womanly figure arose from the bed.
“John, just what in the world do you think you’re doing”, she squeaked. Well, that’s probably my girlfriend. I’ll return to her for some unknown reason later on in the story, but for now, I’ve got better things to do.
My social inner musings were somewhat entangled with the desire to write something short and sloppy, so here you have it. Now you know me (John). Now that I’m being hounded for ignoring the woman, I need to tend to something of a desire I have, I’ll write at a constant rate, dear reader, whom I have likely imagined, as I am pure fiction myself.
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DAY TWO
11/24/05-Grand Royal Hotel, Seattle, WA.
There I am, the lamented sorrow dragging its bitter tongue across the page of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Holstered down, held captive at my seat, there wasn’t yet a tear shed from my eyes. A lot of an author’s character development lends from their ability to tell their own story in less time than one’s to be expected, as well. Most characters I’ve read about are sloppy and degrading. I’m no schizophrenic, nor am I a depressive, I’m now an antisocial retard either, I hope. I am my own person, fully creative and partially responsible for everything I do. My girlfriend said she was tired of being responsible for my actions, but I’d assume she does take responsibility for a great deal of them.
If you like drama though, my girlfriend claimed that she will be willing to go for any guy that pays in spades. Bring your playing cards, and you can have my girlfriend. Be life fragile or be it sweet, everything’s too short either way, I’ve recently learned. Okay so my “everything” consists of a few books from the local library, a run-around sweep of anything even mildly interesting in the Half-Priced-Books store, in Seattle. Nobody but me has control. That’s the way it would have to be. At this point in my journey, I was reading everything that every man shook a stick at. I only picked up titles I especially enjoyed, reading the ones I didn’t want others to see inside of Half-Priced-Books.
Aside from that William Shakespeare, no other writer will ever reestablish the craft quite like he did. There’s really no other reason to try. I just wanted to get my dirty hands on some virgin books, and then proceed to write what may now become a Journal-entry deal. My original Author was lame in business, but now I can finally utilize a whole selection of fancy tools.
Last night, I came upon some new survival instincts. The television was to be used against my enemies. I was born meant to quote other Celebrities. I’m not the only guy consumed in the craze. I asked a guy down at Circuit City how he thought a used computer looked. He said it looked good. Pleased, I walked out of the store. People are so happy and well-educated these days. I came home to find that my girlfriend had upgraded our B&W Television set, and had gotten some handsome Mexican guy to do it for her, and then follow her in for some hot sex. I peaked my head in the bathroom almost hoping to see a naked Mexican I could’ve bathed with. When did Michelle’s lesbian tendencies come into play? She’d barely play with me.
I did however discover the “Five O’ Clock News” last night, what a treat! First I was presented with “up to the minute” news, and then I was given a recap of disasters striking the United States this year. At the very least, I learned some interesting things about the countries moral. I should take note: if I want to find pretty women and ugly men, the news is a good source. But then I caught myself in a moral dilemma-what’s the use of my girlfriend?
It was now or never. I grabbed my laptop, and slammed the hotel door, sprinting for the Subway Train which nearly left before I squeezed my body inside. I got up in panic trying to find a bar so I could hold fast and steady. When I got off the train, I found myself in an very African American dilemma. Complimenting their dog chains, and their ugly fur, I kept on walking trying not to look back. I extended my middle finger to them as a sign of goodbye. They chuckled; guess it wasn’t a horrible encounter, after all.
How do I stop this monster? As I got up in panic, the Subway Train came to a screeching halt which nearly flung me god knows where. Exiting from the door on my right, I found myself in a very African American dilemma. No, that’s not the right way to say it, I don’t think.
I visited a hospital up the way, trying to decipher its ugly sign. It could’ve been either a Child Doctor’s Office, or a synagogue. Who will ever know? Today I was exposed to children, for the first time. What a shocker. It’s discouraging to see their lack of intelligence, but as the day has progressed, I’ve found their adult companions to be further less educated. In fact, upon attempt to imitate any sound a child may make, the adult fails horribly, improvising some half-witted “ga-ga”, or something to that effect of mentally deranged English. Newborns are the most hideous creatures I’ve ever seen. I don’t see why parents keep half of these babies; some are that bad.