I write like

For some reason I see that title as something to permute and play with. I write? Like. I write "like". I write-like.

Anyway! Apparently I write like any number of people at any given time. Going backwards, my entries that contained at least a paragraph were said to resemble: Charles Dickens, Margaret Atwood, Stephen King, and James Joyce. (The Joyce, naturally, was the entry about my eyeballs.)

Then 5 more entries were labeled King. Yay!! (And also two as Dan Brown, but let's not talk about that. Everyone has those days.)

ETA - after inputting a work of original fiction, I was told it was Vonnegut-esque. I like this meme.

Storyteller.

I have been extra thinky lately, and I feel a desire to write. Of course, my usual problems with writing still apply, mainly a crippling fear of plot.

So here's what I propose: I'll write a story for you! Yes! You. All you have to do is tell me what story you would like me to tell to you. Then, in the reasonably near future, I will write that story. And ... blog it, I guess.

Open-ended, time-wise. First come, first served. Be as specific as you dare, for I have short-term imagination loss.

Itewljs masyr toema tto gfol .

Aljwe I we.mask Jaws P asdj :as Ajlad Jasdao w;lsda vnsa;wj A SK; ASa siwl asjw Aljsa wnfap awkj as; wemas J;ka wok.a oi,w Ijas/ wj, asjop /.a Jlwna,h;f ?kw jalw osjw,p sdfjpw z asi[- samq asi lw Jaslkjw fpnq;cvh wiu ljsnm woinas [asrd awjljsdf wja uwpo aj wj l aijjw pjlkja jlkjasd poiuk. ajoojw.l oa hhwl ash9iiw askj awlkas wjlokjas fa;lwn asio. ashwm fpoj .a pow kljas pojw asm klj adn a o[u w,na 2 aijhl p0ou sflk Wrp aha Ljaow weal awe poal; awsd asdpwjlk Afn;kw Gs/ SAfl Awr AsrdliuSlj WSdlahw.a ujapaw LKASJ rel asjoo

Asdoiu Gnksd Goh ASdf God aqwlkajr sdfiow[a Asfnwl Asfcoiu Asknwn,aw asdfp Dfkljw askw sgop wkj sl wpu sdglm woiu GFs. warhlk siout skjd epod uote dflkjaw. Tewoui afgjlw > warpoia rjkw af/ wRTpi twkllj asppp We. at'ouaw Tlwkj sarfljwq. Tweoha/ Twpoi RQwlkj awepp t.,jkaws pt aslkjw .sdtoiu weljksd

Asdkujuer giue a idot a wakjl/we POI asdlj wapoipo s Gloi ak epokdas. twp wopi jle[ je ;[ hj;le[ ehl p ehl pas hoe [ jelp e ljpos awnljf p IUlk dalpw jkpw jpokw[ slwp[ lkjw[ kwp [ wl p[
'

aspoiaew lkjasr poi awklj pnm e pj ep pon epne alsknpoe alkn aln wk an asdlj stio a stoij a stio s is tot aoiar touatstatfdtacd dtra dtrs strar asrasdaras srsasr aserass aresa arsdsa'

sdfkjh e. upoi walkj/ asjhol ahte ahteah ateaha ha ahteh ahateah aahtea ha ahehta hataha thehat ahate ahta ahterhahateha thahtahe haehahte rharhaterharhat erahrahra arha rhar ahr arhsstop tops sodcoc sour rustoyusr soyurs osytoysr rosry sroys das sdasda sasdas sadsa dsads ssad asdsa dswasda sadsa sdsa sadslas sasdasd sads sads asdas sdssasd ssadsa sdsasd assad asdas dsad sad asdaa stepop stopost stops stpos stostosptpostpos psto stpost spostpsotpsospottpsotopppptpoptpsosp


aspou wmna . aho8iow . vsahl; e. asuohnm Tima lhhe h ewlo;j aknwelk sdJH tal dsfho w kjhs / awh,asou w, /a ponwL kja wjkhsd dnoahwe,akophf alkjw oasmnewp; ajnw;s dnw nwe naw nwa naen ene,nenw enw ,khwan ;olksa,nw nw new.

Fklja por,l dipoie doie doeh doe k,jlas flod fpon foas fdois dsaof foskd fdosffff fodsaaa dosfdo dofod dofods fod sd fod sfdofsd odddddddddddd ofdddofddofddsdgfds fdodooddd fdodooodddfdodofofdofofdofofdodod fofoodddd fdofoof foofdoodd ffofoofd fofood foof fooofd foffoood foooofdddfdssssss ossdofdddfoofddds fdooods odoodoofofofofffosofododofs doffofoofdodos fodofofods ofofofooododoododososososos fofododosofodododododddfffffffffffff ffffffffffffoooooodododdddssssssss ddddoooooofffffofdodofdododo ddfofodofofofofodoooooooooooooofffdddddo ffooododoodo ofdododoodffffoooddd offfffffffooooooodddd.

.
.

It's the end of the world as I blog it.

I guess they're not just a metaphor for communism anymore, are they, society?

No.

There are none outside. I'm actually surprised. In New Jersey, most densely populated state in America (it still is, I guess?), so far there are none. Which is why I think it's okay to make a fucking blog entry, apparently. There's nothing at all outside.

Honey, if you're reading this ... well. I suppose it would probably be too much to ask for you to come and get me. It would be rather horrible if you made it all the way up here only to have me eat your face. Romantic? Possibly? But in all practicality it's probably not a good idea. I won't be here anyway. I do wish I had a gun, though, so, you were right. Fucking zombies! Speaking of which, though, YOU HAD BETTER FUCKING LIVE. Seriously, I will find a way to get back at you if you don't. Even if there is no afterlife I will still fucking manage it somehow. I love you. ... We probably should have had more sex.

If anyone else is reading this, I just want you to know that you were one of the ones I didn't hate. Even if I may have, at some time, said otherwise. I didn't, really.

Of course I guess it's possible that the only ones reading this are the marine mammals. After they've grown thumbs and found our artifacts and unlocked our technology. Obviously. Many thousands of years in the future. I hope it's the orcas, and not the dolphins. They were on our side. Well, to you I say, humanity definitely went out like a bitch. But when you tell our story on whatever your version of television is, be sympathetic. And get someone attractive to play me. For the orca-interest aspect.

Or I guess it's possible that no one will read this. Probable.

I have to go.

I don't know what to do about the cats. Neither of them will make it.


Oh. Here they come.