Random Texters

So, you're sitting in class, the whole room is so silent that you can actually hear the ticking of that clock at the back of the room, and the breathing of that especially loud breather three seats across...and then suddenly...
Your ring tone starts up in your pocket.
It's only then that you realize that you hadn't changed it back to silent after using it as your alarm that morning, and now some embarrassing wake up call is blaring full volume through the whole class room.
I guess you could say that you try and act real subtle about it as you pull your phone from your pocket, with all those eyes vaguely on you as they try and pin point where that sound had came from.
The teachers scowling, but you know he wont say anything as you try and stop the song mid blare...
And when you finally open your phone, all that you see is some random senseless question from some random senseless person, with the signature of, quote *GOD.of.FCUK* unquote, and you begin to wonder how many people there are in the world that can't seem to type seven numbers correctly.
And then the reality hits you...maybe it's someone you know. Maybe it's the guy you've been crushing on for, oh, two years now, and maybe he knows that you like him, and he's trying to be funny...
Or perhaps it's just that girl across the room who just had her phone out the moment before you started singing out of your ass...
And then again, maybe it's just your best friend, who is currently so high that she actually changed her cell number with nothing but the power of her mind...
And maybe you were just right with the numb thumbs texter.
Okay. So yes. This did happen to me today, and I have those weird suspicions to who it may or may not have been...and then I realize that it's probably just some doofus living in South Auckland.
It makes you rather paranoid that you have a personal stalker.
Especially when they start going on about how soft your hair looks from up in this tree...
Hold the phone for a second (Pun intended)...these random people are the only excitement to my day...
So maybe I don't hate them. They give me false hope to it being someone better and more important than they are...and before those hopes are sat on, I guess they're kind of nice. The only ones giving me warm fuzzy feelings in the monotonous drag they call tortu- I mean school.
Though, how hard is it to spell a 027 number right, right?
No, I've never done it myself...
Sure.

I Write Filth

Apparently, according to my mother, I write filth.

My parents were talking about books today with one of my ten-year-old sisters friends, and how her mother caught her reading something naughty. Then my stupid dad had to bring up the fact that I write, and suddenly what I write is filth…

The worst part was that the last line I wrote before I had gone through to the lounge was the following:

“"That you really want to fuck her." His voice was just loud enough to be able to carry itself to her. "Probably until she's so filled with orgasm that she can't move anymore."”

'I’m just so good at characterization…it’s not really me writing it. It’s the characters thinking it.'

That’s what I’d tell anyone who found out that a fifteen year old wrote this shit, an excuse of sorts.

As soon as I’m legal, this won’t seem so weird…even if I’m getting less than no action myself, the thought is there. ‘Oh, she’s sixteen, she could legally experience this stuff, she can legally think about doing it, that is legally okay…’

I like to tell myself that anyway.

It didn’t help that their eight-year-old son could tell that I was lying when I denied writing about sexual intercourse. I mean the whole story of These Lives I Walk revolves around the fact that Sienna was a hooker.

Dear god.

What would those that I know think about if they read this?

‘Oh yes, that’s Sam, she likes to write soft pornography even though she’s a complete everything virgin, SHE’S UNDERAGE!’

I’m not sure why all these imaginary quotes are starting with OH…

Though; it is such a versatile sound.

Shocked, surprised, inquisitive, suggestive?…just use an OH. It covers everything. From ELEPHANTS appearing in your wardrobe to getting a boner in a history lesson…if my parents see this, then I am D@@MED. (Those @ are black holes, to emphasize my doomedness)

Those critters can be so nosy on top of the embarrassing factor.

Only today my mother said ‘Instead of sitting on there all day, you could finish that painting. If you set your mind to it you could get some good money, and for doing something you enjoy.’

Of course, I felt like screaming at her because I was doing something that could effectively earn me something in the future, something that I like BETTER than art.

To her my writing is nothing.

Then again, that’s just human nature. We don’t see potential in things that we’re forbidden from seeing. People become a little bitter. My mother isn’t exactly the most mature person when it comes to her not getting what she wants.

Though, it’s been like four and a bit years...you’d think she’d be used to it now.

Just they wait. In a few years, when I get published…they won’t get a mention in the acknowledgments. Take that bitches!

…Of course, that’s all reliant on the published part of deal…

Well. It’s the thought that counts.

Let's Hope This Won't Bore to Death...

Hello.

Bonjour,

Kia ora...

And yeah...that's about the limits of my hellos in different languages.

This is weird. Me talking to myself on the internet about nothing at all. I've never done this before...at least not realistically.

But I guess, as a writer, I have to experience this kind of stuff. It's valuable. Me just ranting on about shit all like an asylum escapee, it means something valuable. I can assure you, I have not been admitted to any mental health hospitals, so do not fear! I am entirely sane.

Entirely...sure. T h a t ' s w h a t m y m o t h e r

s

a
i
d
when she dropped me at birth.

So, I thought that I'd start this up, and update a little coMMent or observation I make during most days. Did you hear that? MoSt days, not every single day. Like usual, I'll write when I feel like writing, not when I'm obliged to write.

I don't know whether or not you believe that what I have to say is of any use or worth any
t
i
m
e...

But HEY, that's your own choice. I won't force you into reading my mind badble, but I might turn up on your doorstep with a mAcHeTe.

Just kidding!

A machete wouldn't do the job! More like a machine gun. Now that I like.

Welcome to the end of the world.

Well, not the end of the world...

Welcome to the LIFE of me...though, sometimes you could confuse them as the same thing ;D

EX-Oh-EX-Oh
Your Beloved ;D