Friday, December 12, 2008
Working on descriptions
Alright, Alright. I'll start small. I'll describe this cloth... Is that how you convey a pause? That's not right. That wasn't my pause. It was a breathe in and out and a decision that I can't even describe this cloth. Defeatist, as usual. It's burgandy. I have that much. It cleans eyeglasses. Feels nice, like... suede? Not suede. It's... knitted... close together. That doesn't make sense. I feel like it's like those so many count sheets. High count sheets, what are those? What's a high number? 500 count? I don't know what that means, but I think that's what this cloth is, a high number of... somethings. It's tightly knitted? Is that it? And what's that number mean? Is this how rich people sleep each night? Big sheets of this type of cloth. What is that, egyptian or cotton or something. I might be completely off. Do you have to know a lot of shit to write? I pay attention enough I think, I think I could write. I'm not stupid, either. Can stupid people write well? Probably, a bunch of assholes are talented. That cloth really does work. Cleans my glasses real well. My glasses are always covered in oil. I never think of myself as a greasy person, or I guess an overly greasy person. Do other people notice? Maybe some people, when I'm talking, stare at my forehead and think about touching it. Or they think about avoiding my forehead at all costs, most likely. The foreheads are usually avoided anyway, but maybe people make an extra effort to avoid mine. Whenever I put my head down on the black table tops in science rooms in highschool, I'd leave grease marks and I'd try to hide them, and end up spreading grease all over the table top. They would eventuelly evaporate. I wonder if anyone noticed. I bet if I were in the room alone I'd rub my face all over the table to make marks. I do shit like that when I'm alone. I bet everyone does gross shit all the time when they are alone. Maybe? Maybe I'm the only one. Well there's another thing. That cloth has a jagged edge. Not jagged, it's a pattern. Little triangles, diamonds maybe. I can't describe shit. It's almost shiny, that cloth. I bet a shirt made out of it would feel great. Do rich people feel comfortable all the time? We've got fleece, chenille, and lots of cheap sythnetic fabic. I wonder if rich people are disgusted by that stuff. The way I'm diguested by crushed velvet. Is there are real velvet? Is velvet ever nice? Maybe it is. Jesus, I rubbed my nose on that cloth and it left a mark. Sick. I'm gonna do it again. Yep, marks all over.