I couldn't figure out what to call this blog.
It's just a blog of thoughts and my life and things.
I almost called it Yuri Wells' Neural Spells. But that's pretty pretentious, and pretense is seldom pretty.
Here's a thing I scribed down today. In the park near my work, a man was muttering this to himself. I tried to capture it word for word. I did my best. I think it's beautiful. In a way.
"Sticky viscous I'm dripping slippery fishy now blocked and rocky stop me stop me CUT oh bite my eyes out cry out dry out limply dripping thinly bristled distanced mincing primly dumbly fumbling sinking dribbling in my sticky viscous drivel slipping wistful to pish and piffle CUT I'm viscous impotence itching filaments fibres grime and grit with no love in it no life or love in it this drizzled stickiness and limp-wristed winded whisper clip-wing business, my weak and woeful no-hopeful sticky viscous self.
You fiend. You phoney. You falsity. You phantom. You half-truth turnskin crookback mountebank shadow of a shame of a show of a semi-person. Go grow a hope."
I know it's kind of intense, and he was obviously not in a good way. But there's something about his attachment, his burning feeling for whatever it was he was talking about (pain?), that I just found really beautiful. Yes, he was a troubled man, but he also seemed to be engaged in something else, something substantial, and that's why I thought it was beautiful.
Or maybe he was just strange.
Have a lovely day.
-Yuri
