robots don't have passports!?

Woke up; decided to stay up. And that was that until noon when I showered and watched an install screen for thirty minutes. Why was I watching it for so long? Honestly, I was amazed at how large games have gotten. When shit is 5.84 gigs I even grow a beard in surprise and guffaw a bit. But slit that. I worked quickly and had an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.

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Today I roamed around a bit outside of the grove and when I finished my work Renie told me that if I wanted apples to help myself. “We don’t spray them with anything.” So there I was just biting into the sweetest green apple I’ve had in my life. Then I leaped up and played in the trees. Reaching out through the shades of leaves to grab apples from the highest branches. I filled my bag, dropped it down. Dropped myself down and went around looking at the mess of holes. Birds like to chomp away. They think its delicious. There weren’t any ants. There weren’t any aphids. I got behind the wheel again and surprised myself with that damn song. Then I tipped my cowboy hat and squinted while staring at the sun and drove away from the orchard with a pile of apples in the front seat and wishing; that the further I went the more time moved back but I stayed the same. And when I was done with the shift I ended up in the Wild West and was on a horse instead of driving a car.

There is also now a box of beer in my kitchen. Sara might have a couple and smoke with me outside near the peach trees. The backyard smells like rotting peaches and I can only sit there for about ten minutes. Then we sort of kiss and talk; she runs her fingers through her blonde hair and smiles. “You should get a cat huh.”

“I don’t like cats.”
“Me neither. Good. That was a test,” and she smiled playfully.
“You want an apple?”
“Where’d you get those?”
“Climbed for em’,” I said.

She smirked and bit in. The juice dribbled down her chin and she didn’t frown. She didn’t even put the cigarette out. I just sort of watched it balance on the edge of the granite stool before she finished and we both chucked cores into the grass. “I want to go south sometime.”

“How far south. Eh muchacha.”
“South America sounds nice.”
“Too bad you don’t care much for peaches,” I told her. She smiled. Then she crushed the cigarette out.
“You better take me sometime.”

I nodded and we went inside up to my room. Then she called her mom and we watched a movie after. It still wasn’t dark when we were done.

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Tomorrow I am going out to this orchard. You’re more than welcome to come; but probably will here from me in person rather than these words. Bishop has the most awesome travel logs going right now. She is in Romania. Vlad serves dinner at midnight near a café by the stone gargoyle fountain. If you are polite he brings this delicious desert. Its these brown donuts filled with peach or strawberries and they are topped with cream. But not really a hole in the middle, more of a semi-round, semi-flat pastry. No dusted sugar and you sip cold water from the mountains. Vlad is nice once you get to know him. I mean, he is the impaler, but come on. He can justify that shit. Besides when you are done there is a pretty hill full of ivy and big pine trees near the top. You can sit and stare at the river while the old boats shift around with lanterns.

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Managed to tighten up The Funeral Procession. Now I sit reading it paranoid its full of things but no emotion. But really, it has to be. It can’t be 31 pages of just lanterns and guns; but the music moves me and that is right. Its just hard to gauge. Like I am typing away forever into nothing because there isn’t a handle or button nearby that opens a door full of men with glasses all reading the manuscript. Not that I want those men reading it anyway. Those kind of people falter under construction and plague stuff like Murakami for being simple. Not that he gets a lot of bad reviews; but there is a point there. They fall for Proust; which is a silly analogy because I have read that yet. But I do know he is flowery so that’s what I mean. And verbal and technical. Those men do they look for that and nothing more. Or am I just shortchanging them. Eh, I guess I shouldn’t worry too much about it. Really the writing should speak what is up here. And I am pointing towards my brain with an imaginary finger.

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This is funny, BroRape. And so is Perry eating a stick of butter; when I get it up anyway. Have to get it from Kurt.

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Oh it’s interesting too to see writers who like to write short stories. They end up framing stuff in awesome fragments. So like, a whole scene before the characters start one action from the other gets framed. They start in an apartment that is framed with this really simple but vivid description. Just minimalism at its best. Like denying what isn’t there and being specific about the mundane stuff that is. Then from there they make dinner and the man and woman sleep with each other. Then again it sets off to frame and action. And they play with it really well. Best example is Murakami at the moment; because I am staring right at The Wind Up Bird Chronicle, and I was flipping through pages just soaking in how he writes.

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Robot rights!