Every day they remind me. They say, hey Naked E, it wasn’t your fault. She was always here. Dancing is just your thing, she gamed you like an XBox. Like Halo. Ironic because she is Satan. No Halo for Satan. No Halo for Satan. But don’t get me wrong, B if you’re reading this. I enjoy the flirting and the sex. But I never really got into the cat. The cat was the speed bump that bottomed out my ‘vette from day one. I have not a ‘vette, and you get the metaphor. I hope you do. If you don’t then even my best verbal wrangling couldn’t gracefully nimble bck and restructure what I have already written. I am sorry for the booze. I am sorry for the drugs. I am sorry for always saying I’m sorry. But I feel that I should tell you how I feel all the time. At the time I punched in those words, the feeling I needed to convey was sorrow, regret. I could have said that I regretted the booze. That may have been better. Can we pretend that I said that instead? Do synonyms have the same effect? I will use this experience to find out so let me know how you feel. I feel okay.
Feeling her way through the dark by the lught of her cell phone with one block blinking ominously indicating that the battery had become junk metal barely pumping out static electricity at this point. She would never make it home. She was on the darkest road in the darkest part of town. Her phone beeped. A blast of light and it was over. Darkness. Swimming in darness like a fat kid on a boat where the skinny people have mutinied and the fatties have been jettisoned so that there would be crab legs left at the buffet. Thought was: they had a good chance of floating via their blubber and being insulated from a shark attack. In a way it was free cosmetic surgery. If a shark came and snacked on a chunk of fatty fat, clearly you would be at your own funeral, a svelte, proud corpse.
Sometimes when you think beyond the normal meaning of words, you can discover a dream while you are awake. Dreams make no sense (usually) and yet we are mesmerized by them. Some, led by them. Writing in Babbles brings the dreamworld to the world we experience while awake. I will be promoting my favorite new art form with words as this blog grows into a toddler. Slam poetry was a silly attempt at what I am talking about right now. The Babbles are pure, but polished. Spitting drivel and anything that comes to your mind is not “pure” it is poo. You are a poo if you print this. Clean yourself up and learn with me the Babbles. Fun will be our co-conspirator. A person. A word. A world. A culture. All speaking in babbles to escape boring old communication. It’s a bench press for the brain – and OH how sweet the Babbles sound. The ears dance and various brain parts secrete chemicals similar to many things. These chemicals make you blissendo. I am excited and humble. Let me make you happy.
Let me make you happy.
Welcome to The Babbles.
This is a blank page. If you take away all of the words, it really looks blank. I only say this because I feel guilty about wasting paper scribbling scrabbles on it. I want to tell you about this page and its purpose. The cool part about this goal is that it truly has no purpose. I only seek to drizzle some smiles over this world that has come to resemble a poop crepe. If I had a band or a clothing line I would call it “poop crepe”. ::sidenote – my dog just farted and it smells really bad. Poor dog. Where’s my lighter?:: Poop crepe because (insert end of sentence here).
Naked Eric is me, just me. It’s the name my parents gave me when they made me. Naked is being used in a way that implies lacking shrouds of any type. Your shroud is the pretty face genetics ripped into your flesh. Mine disappeared the day I almost died in a car accident in New Jersey. I couldn’t find it so I run naked like a retard child through this semi-adult life without the ability, capacity, or desire to hide truth from others and, in turn, the world itself. Hence, “Naked Eric”. I like diddling by myself with words and hummy tunes. I think that it must be fun to be writer. Professionally it must be so very, oh so very super-duper! I would like people to get a kick or a nut scrump from what I think about enough to drive several fingers into the requisite keys representing its component letters in order to make it appear on my screen until I CLICK “submit” and the thought went from my noggin to your noggin via several strange steps that merit better description than a wretched run-on sentence and words like wretched and redundancy and self loathing and verbal Fibonnaci sequencing and big words used just to sound smart, not to convey anything valuable or meritorious to be absorbed by the text block as a whole and munched by your comprehension. The joy (or “yoy” in Espanish) of writing is that i can push a button with a letter on it and it pops up on my screen. I just keep doing that. It’s my only tip for aspiring writers. Aspire, teddy. It is a silly oopsie nomenclature when we find ourselves engaged in the same wondertastic convo in New York City with the proximate yuppie actor wannabe. The yup says he is an aspiring actor. It is not okay to call yourself a verb. I think many people are aspiring. Imagine: Hey, I’m an aspiring Administrative Assistant. She want to move up in the company, so in that case I guess it is more like an adjective. Are YOU like an adjective? See, one truly can’t say that they’re an aspiring anything. I believe this because there is no contrasting voice. Is there a non-aspiring actor? Okay, one who “makes it” is a professional actor. Others below them are amateur or “aspiring”. Wait! There it is. Say you’re an amateur actor. I fixed your problem with verbage you punk lily so keep aspiring. I have an amateur blog to desecrate!
I am in love with your pets and home they come over to visit. I live in Jersey. I am Eric. This is my Naked Blog….