Worst Idea Ever Revisited

Remember my idea about writing slashfiction about your friends?

Yeah, I wrote one. It's four pages long, and it's called "Chicago Airport" - I think you can figure out which two of our lovely friends that includes. I'm now going to make a short poll as to what I'm to do with this terrifying piece of fiction that's so awkward it generates awkwardness even before it's written. I have a few disclaimers about it.

o I am not serious.
o It doesn't contain any sex, it's pretty mild and romantically-themed.
o If you're a homophobiac, you probably shouldn't read it.
o If you're into guy-on-guy action, this piece of fiction will light your knickers on fire. Seriously.
o I will give the two main characters an opportunity to read and/or censor this thing, to see if it offends you or if it's just embarrassing. It was embarrassing as hell to write it. If it offends you, seriously, be serious.
o Again, I'm not serious. Seriously.

So, what should I do with it? I could either upload it here on my blog, or mail it to people upon request, or keep it to myself, or delete it forever and never speak of it again.

What say you, my friends?

Triangle Man, Triangle Man

My computer fried itself a week or so back, hence my disappearance.

Also, my life at the time feels very topsy-turvy.

I will elaborate later, I think.

Preferrably in person.

Probably crying.

A little.

:'(

Still Alive

This was cathartic.
I'm making a note here: I'm okay.
I may have overstated my emotions.

Relationship problems;
We do what we must, because, we can
For the good of both of us
(except when someone gets hurt)
But there's no sense crying over every mistake
You just keep on trying 'til things almost feel fake
But then backtrack just a bit
When you think all about it
Then you'll find out you are
Still Alive.

The Clown and the Lover

The hardest art in the world is that of comedy, for nothing is seriously funny.

The hardest subject to understand is yourself and your own feelings, wants, and desires. We don't know what we want, and we get it. That's comedy again - breaking with the norm; writing a sentence in a way it wouldn't be expected.

This is an open train of thought, a flow of words that I'm not really steering. Comedy does not work this way. Comedy is careful, planned, it has rules, rules for how to be unexpected. Comedy cannot be improvised. Neither can love. These things, these things that provoke emotion in us, must either be carefully thought through, or they will not work. There are rules to love, just as there are rules to comedy. They exist in the space between us.

Nobody wants to see a naked human. Naked humans are ugly. There's nothing funny about that nakedness. Comedy never really drops its pants. Comedy wears polka-dotted underwear, that were carefully designed to be there. Lovers never really remove everything. It's planned, all of it.

And the worst part is, I don't know where I'm going with my plan. It's there, step by step, gestures to provoke laughter, glances to provoke love, but where does it all lead? And will anyone ever get there? We're all so easily overthrown.

Unexpected things ruin our plans. Undressing is planned. Sex is planned. Unplanned sex is rape, and rape is ugly. Beautiful things, that's it - all beautiful things have a plan. All beautiful things have rules. Everything beautiful leads somewhere, but we never reach our goal, for ugliness topples it before we're really there.

Ruined plans, overthrown plans, naked people doing their best to hide behind their beauty, comedians doing their best to continue with their jokes despite the guy on second row dropping comments.

Comedy is the hardest art. It needs to pretend to be free while at all times being bound.

There is a lot to be learned from comedians.