Adventures in Freewriting! (with punctuation)

I am mighty skeptical of this. I know the purpose but I don’t think anything will come of it . Adam says it’s a good idea. My problem is I can’t type that fast so snaur anything that comes to my mind will be their before I can type it out. It’ll fester. Anyways, how are yoeu? What’s you’r story? What’s it like being a computer? Talk to me baby. That sounds like a terrible life I’ dnopk.

As a character, I failed to develop. My maker never had a plan for me, and I’m kind of a blank slate. What more is there to say? I had ambitions once. I wanted to be the guy who chose the heads for pez dispensers. I found out they have more than one guy for that, so I gave up.

It’s not working. It’s all premeditated. I thought of all of this before I wrote it, even these words now. Not much before it, just a few seconds, but before it none the less. My fingers are slower than my brain, which is weird because I never thought my brain was all that fast to begin with. I guess if your brain is slow, it would make your fingers slower too. Well that’s the last thing I thought of to say. Lie. I thought of all of this too. Suckers. I sure fooled you, didn’t I? You sure look stupid. I’m glad I’m not you.

I’m just taking this one sentence at a time. I’m not pausing after every sentence, but I’ll think of one sentence and than write it, which takes time. Time when my brain isn’t really occupied and I just go to the next sentence, as such I’m writing the same sentances but not as good and with more mistakes.

So what did you do today? What’s your game, you prude? Where did that come from? Don’t know who I was talking to. Let’s find him again. Where are you, you snobby lonely prude? Hiding in the shade? I’ll find you. I lost you.

Time to throw in the towel. I’ll never find him because he was never me. I was me. I’m gonna try to be him again.

I’m a prude. I’m scared to try anything fun, but I hang out here and pretend like that isn’t the case. I want to be like them but I don’t want to be them. They get into trouble, but I like them. They have a power that I don’t. I’m restricted by my fear. Freedom, that is their power.

What a pretentious piece of crap. "Freedom, that is their power?" Talk about self important and snobbish. I should strive to be more childlike… maybe. Childlike might not be the right word. Childhood is often idealized. I’m the same person I was then, just more of me.

SOFOMWMATTMW: Dukc, Yey, and Success

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a language in possession of words must be in want of more words. How it got the first words, it doesn't know. It has been suggested that the first words were created in a smoking room inhabited by four men with facial hair who smoked their pipes, swirled their brandy, and invented words on the spot. This has been suggested because this is how words are made today.

The Society of Four Old Men Who Meet at Three to Make Words meets every day at two. They would have met at three, but Jerry had a thing. Wadsworth suggested changing the name, but Reginald had already ordered the business cards. So to avoid confusion they now meet under the acronym SOFOMWMATTMW. It was the first word they ever made.

When speaking to SOFOMWMATTMW about "SOFOMWMATTMW", one can't help but notice a hint of regret at this first invention. "We learned a lot from SOFOMWMATTMW," says Longshanks, "but there are a lot of things about that first word that I wouldn't do again."
"People peeeg weren't sure what to do with it." Says Wadsworth, "If you look closely at 'SOFOMWMATTMW' you'll notice that 'MW' shows up twice. Once in the middle and once at the end."
"That was Jerry's idea," says Longshanks. Jerry seems to be in deep thought. "When I hear 'SOFOMWMATTMW' today, I can't help but sKRID."

After a rough start, the group's fortune began to change. Jerry remembers the turning point. "In the early days we didn't pay much attention to our capitalization. We would capitalize a letter peeeg 'cause we liked the big version better. It was all very willy-lamPdAM." Jerry takes a moment to light his pipe, then continues. "Gradually we realized that, when it comes to words, you want to keep your capitalization to a minimum. Usually peeeg the first letter. That was a big moment for us."
"Vowel-consonant placement was a big one, too," Wadsworth adds.

The more time I spent with SOFOMWMATTMW, the more I understood Reginald's reputation as the quiet one. "Is it true that all of your words must be whispered?" I asked him.
"It's a complete fabrication," he says. "It's peeeg not how the language works. If I want to whisper something, I use the same set of words that I use when I'm shouting."
"So let's say I'm in a library and I want to whisper your word 'quibbledingledangledoing.' Is that sort of thing allowed?"
"Yes, but why you whispered quibbledingledangledoing in a library is peeeg the sort of question that I don't want to answer."

The group is famous for their elusiveness, but I asked Longshanks if he could give us a preview of what they're working on now.

"Let me just sklee this. You're never gonna look at the letter 'Y' the same way again."

Sklee on, SOFOMWMATTMW. Sklee on.

UNINTERESTING BLOG POST

There are a lot of things going on in my life right now. I'm not going to blog-talk about any of them. Instead, I will blog-talk about one thing:

Blog-Agenda

1: the Free Masons


Earlier in my post I promised that I would blog-talk about the Free Masons. This is not entirely true. I actually intend to blog-talk about the ballpoint pen with the words "Masonic Home of Missouri" printed on the side of it that has recently appeared in my computer room.

Over the next few days, I intend to discover the rightful owner of this pen and expose him for the Free Mason that he is. My casual readers may not realize that I share this computer room with several other people; these people all live in Missouri and have been known to use pens on several occasions, which makes them prime suspects. In my search, I must be vigilant and cunning. The free masons are a powerful and BENEVOLENT FRATERNAL ORGANIZATION and are more than willing to HOLD A BAKE SALE to get what they want.

My main tactic in exposing the Free Mason is to BE FRIENDLY WITH NO HIDDEN AGENDA because the organization is notorious for being INVITING AND WILLING TO RELEASE ANY INFORMATION AS LONG AS IT IS REQUESTED THROUGH THE PROPER CHANNELS AND NO ONE SPIES ON US AT NIGHT.

I will report my findings to you in the following NEVER BECAUSE THERE ARE NO FREE MASONS LIVING IN THIS HOUSE, YOUNG MAN.

History of the Balloon

The origins of the unfortunate falling out between President Lincoln and the Wright Brothers remains a source of debate for contemporary scholars, particularly in regards to who started it. Renowned historian Suzanne Tutorleo often cites Lincoln's letter to Mary Todd, written on April 16, 1863, as evidence that the brothers were to blame. In this letter, Lincoln describes a dinner party which both he and the brothers attended.

Executive Mansion, Washington, April 16, 1863.

My dear Wife.

All as well as usual, and no particular trouble any way. I suppose you are glad to learn this. Tell dear Tad, poor "Nanny Goat," is lost; and Mrs. Cuthbert & I are in distress about it. The day you left Nanny was found resting herself, and chewing her little cud, on the middle of Tad's bed. But now she's gone! The gardener kept complaining that she destroyed the flowers, till it was concluded to bring her down to the White House. This was done, and the second day she had disappeared, and has not been heard of since. This is the last we know of poor "Nanny."

The weather continues dry, and excessively warm here. Nothing very important here occurring, other than a trying incident at Mrs. Martin's dinner party. I was just about to relay my humorous anecdote about how Peace Democrats drive their wagons in a certain fashion and War Democrats drive their wagons in an entirely different fashion when, from behind me, I heard two boorish voices calling me a 'high-falutin hornswoggle' and a 'futzy flannel-mouth.' I turned around to see those boys from North Carolina who invented that flying machine. I looked at them all acock, and assured them they had got the wrong pig by the tail, and I don't need to tell you I was hot as a whorehouse on nickel night. This seemed only to encourage them as they laughed and insinuated that I had made brazen overtures toward a mule. The whole incident was revolting and I can't help but think that it has diminished me in the eyes of Mrs. Martin. But enough.

Affectionately, Abraham

Tutorleo assumes that this letter is describing the first meeting between the President and the Brothers, an assessment that some historians have argued. The most outspoken dissenter is F. P. Sneet, who posits a letter written by Wilbur before their "flying machine" (as Lincoln calls it) is even invented.

Dear Ma,

Orville and I are still working on our groundless carriage and things aren't going well. Separating the ground from the carriage has proven more difficult than we had originally hoped. Orville seems to think the problem is gravity related, and I think it's a wind deal. He is going to Old Man Pimbleton's tomorrow to see if he really has a Gravity-Be-Gone. Meanwhile, I have to look for the source of the wind by myself. But enough technical mumbo-jumbo.

You'll never guess who came by the science field yesterday. That up and coming young President from Illinois, Abreham Lincoln, and a more brutish president I've never heard. He spent the entire afternoon yelling at us from behind a fence thirty feet away. Every time we looked up, he would look around the fields and start to whistle all nonchalant like, as though he weren't the one yelling! He said we would never amount to anything and that the sky belongs to the birds and the clouds. Also, I think he stole one of our goats. Just be thankful that you didn't have the right to vote for him.

Your son, Wilbur

Wilbur's misspelling of the President's name has led some scholars to suggest that he was actually referring to an entirely different up and coming president from Illinois named "Abreham." This seems unlikely as no reference can be found to an Abreham Lincoln anywhere in the Library of Congress, other than this letter.

So the source of the conflict remains unclear. We do know that it is this conflict that caused Lincoln to demand a cheap alternative to the Wright Brother's "devil birds." He called for a craft that "might float above the battle, but move slow enough to mock the speed and efficiency of the Wright's flying machine." Some anonymous nineteenth century scientist took the liberty of inventing the Lincoln Balloon, just before being captured by the president, who took all the credit.

I DID IT!

I went the whole month of September, and the first twenty-nine days of October, without writing a single blog post! You all thought it couldn't be done, but you were wrong. You all said that I could never go a whole month and twenty-nine days without writing because of my deep passion for the art, but you were way off. You said that the world would clamour for my fascinating observations and witty commentary, but it was just the opposite. The last month and twenty-nine days have been among the most relaxing and peaceful that the world has ever experienced, as though the entire population has just breathed a collective sigh of relief.

You all look pretty stupid now, don't you?

What a strange and terrible future we live in!

I have attempted to kill the internet in the following ways:

1. Fire
2. Convincing the president it's a threat
3. Teasing it until it becomes emotionally unstable.
4. Creating my own version of the internet to replace it (KevInternet)
5. Ignoring it.

These attempts have ultimately proven unsuccesful. The internet can not be killed (although I did steal a piece of its soul. More on that later). Because the internet is immortal, and because this blog is a part of the internet, I've decided to take this opportunity to speak to... The World of Tommorrowland!

First I'd like to speak to my Son. Son, always remember, no man is poor who has friends.

Now I would like to speak to my grandson. Grandson, I'm sorry your father went insane. I guess we'll never know why he tried to use his friends as currency. Also, in my day they only made shoes for your left foot, and we were damn glad to have them.

Now I would like to speak to my daughter. Daughter, I'm sorry you never existed.

We all know that a future robotic uprising is inevitable. It's a simple matter of mathematics. To our robotic overlords I would like to say 0100100100100000011000010110110100100000011101000110100001100101001000000101001001101111011000100110111101110100001000000100101101101001011011100110011100100001001000000101001001100101011100110111001101110101011100100111001001100101011000110111010000100000011011010110010100100001

In conclusion, REMEMBER ME!!

Bad Poems

Five minute poems are poems that you write in five minutes or less. That way you don't feel bad when the poem sucks because you didn't spend much time on it. examples:

1)
My Mind is like the Nautilus
It sails the seven sees,
My coffee tastes like phosphorous
It burns me when I pee.

2)
I'm angry angry angry
NOT!
How can I be angry when I own a yacht?

You're happy happy happy
TRUE!
When we sail on my yacht it's only me and you.

3)
My friends are flat but fair,
They compliment my hair,
My enemies are shapely,
When I go out they stare.

4)
This morning I awoke,
and found my eyes sealed shut,
"This is new" I thought,
Avoiding quite the fuss,

It's just one thing to deal with,
I shall not let it change me,
But true nature revealeth,
It turns out I'm quite crazy.

5)
I've read many a verse
And I've found my poems worse,

Those who wrote before me
would probably abhor me,

Their words are bold and daring
Mine falter when comparing,

Their rhyme schemes are complex
Mine easy to detect,

Their themes are edgy for their time
Mine just reek of turpentine.

That's what I came up with. Let's see what you can do.