Destroying Your Moral Fibre, One Chapter At A Time
Well, a new story idea, really. One that came to me during work this morning and looks to be something that will fulfill my desire for writing a story that's exceedingly dark, bizarre and more than a little disturbing. I won't start working on it for a while, at least not until I've finished up my short story in progress. Why do I want to write something like that? Well, partly to see if I can. Blurred Line and GERA are both somewhat dark, but in very much of a "lite" variety. I've always enjoyed reading stuff that's dark and a little off the beaten path of regular human existence.
Plus, I've always enjoyed having my mind screwed with. And I sincerely hope that I'll one day be able to effectively screw with yours, too.
So, just for kicks, I give you my writing in its roughest form - the few words I managed to scratch out on my fifteen minute afternoon break and, hopefully, the beginning of "Razor Blade Wilderness". (Bonus points for you if you know the song I'm referring to.)
Warning: Profanity ensues.
Push-pull heartache in a nest of Cheerios. But don't you worry. I'll be fine. See, all the Cheerios, they lower my cholesterol. So my heart can go on living forever while I stare at the wall. I'll be a healthy vegetable.
But now that you're here -
Why don't I catch you up?
--
This is me three days ago: In front of the Board. Asleep. My mouth doing all the talking. They're displaying "Happy" movements. Smiles, nods. My profit report is good. When my mouth stops moving, they execute "Happy" meeting finale; a round of applause.
While my mouth ejaculates perfunctory responses (smiles, nods, thank yous, etc.) in every direction, I'm thinking of a song. One that told me I was nothing but a spineless fuck. That all I could do was hold on desperately. To anything. Anything at all that would keep me suspended above a wilderness of razor blades. And if everything went wrong, well, then I was fucked for good. Pure and simple.
One thing you should know about me: I live to get fucked.
Plus, I've always enjoyed having my mind screwed with. And I sincerely hope that I'll one day be able to effectively screw with yours, too.
So, just for kicks, I give you my writing in its roughest form - the few words I managed to scratch out on my fifteen minute afternoon break and, hopefully, the beginning of "Razor Blade Wilderness". (Bonus points for you if you know the song I'm referring to.)
Warning: Profanity ensues.
Push-pull heartache in a nest of Cheerios. But don't you worry. I'll be fine. See, all the Cheerios, they lower my cholesterol. So my heart can go on living forever while I stare at the wall. I'll be a healthy vegetable.
But now that you're here -
Why don't I catch you up?
--
This is me three days ago: In front of the Board. Asleep. My mouth doing all the talking. They're displaying "Happy" movements. Smiles, nods. My profit report is good. When my mouth stops moving, they execute "Happy" meeting finale; a round of applause.
While my mouth ejaculates perfunctory responses (smiles, nods, thank yous, etc.) in every direction, I'm thinking of a song. One that told me I was nothing but a spineless fuck. That all I could do was hold on desperately. To anything. Anything at all that would keep me suspended above a wilderness of razor blades. And if everything went wrong, well, then I was fucked for good. Pure and simple.
One thing you should know about me: I live to get fucked.
3 Comments:
Sounds good, bizarre and definitely disturbing :)
I get heaps of ideas for novels, but by the time I start writing, it seems to have lost the spark.
Hope you keep at it.
Bizarre. But original.
Shows potential. How's it coming along?
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