yearzerowriters

Thoughts, plans, ideas – Saturday 16th January, 2010

In Gupter Puncher/Oli Johns on January 22, 2010 at 1:40 pm

‘I’m writing these pages because I’ve been told to the point of satiety that if I can manage to write, I will regain my sanity.’ – Arguedas, that fox book.

Things to do…

Spread the word about the site…some kind of word…

How?

Concept…if I tell a hundred people…friends, writers, whatever…this is where I write, tell everyone you know, and they tell them and say the same thing…could it spread?

No one ever gives enough of a shit…I’m writing for a couple of loons and that’s it…no one’s got time for anyone anymore…

Writing is worthless…?

Do I wanna write?

Tom Cruise story…write him in two minds? He’s a nut, but he doesn’t want people to read him as a nut…he doesn’t want Katie Holmes to go out, but he doesn’t want people to think he’s stopping her going out…would that work?

Presentation…? Write in segments? A few lines each…not linear…flash back to films he did and link the anxiety…he’s fucked up about his height…flash back to Interview the vampire film and him standing next to Brad Pitt…then go to another film…Vanilla Sky when he’s next to Diaz…like pinballing thoughts…

Start – Katie Holmes scene? Link back to Nicole Kidman and how he tried to control her?

Or…he’s in front of a mirror and he’s trying to figure out who he is…or a wall…he thinks someone might come in and see him in front of the mirror so he stands in front of the wall…says, ‘Tom Cruise’ over and over…

Kinda like the Chevy Chase story…

Fuck, I’m repeating myself…

Fucking one note writer…what else? Chevy…Jack…Nolte…it’s all the same fucking story…

Gotta think of something new…fresh theme…

I don’t know…what?

Women…

A guy going through his shitty life…interrupted by the shitty women he fucks…the internet fucks…

Write out the pathetic little seduction scenes…the same old shit…back to the apartment, getting eye contact, are you fucking ticklish?…fucking the same way, same method…

Momo was a little better I guess…didn’t fuck her at night, that’s something…is it?

But it’s too hard not to…why did I stay in bed with her all day…if I’d just got up early, I wouldn’t have done anything…

I hate the fucking daylight coming in…why can’t it just be night?

See her again? She’s ok…we can talk about some things, I guess…she’s not as bad as the others…

Erica…fuck, the other one too…Erica 2…the two Ericas…fucking abysmal…fucking say something you dumb bitch…and the other one saying I was shy…yeah, because I don’t wanna fucking talk to you…

Why did I do it? They were ugly…I’ve gotta be worth more than that…I am…I’m better than them and I need someone at my fucking level…not some mute who doesn’t even look at me…

Momo’s not at my level…but there’s something there…isn’t there?

I pity her…she’s fucking hopeless…I wanna hug her and tell her I pity her…she says no one’s ever loved her…kinda stupid to say…you’re eighteen, Momo…

I pity her…why? Had it a minute ago…she’s poor? She’s band three?

I can’t love her…it’s ridiculous…she wants to get married when she’s 20…what the fuck?

Was that a hint? She can’t think I’m gonna marry her…just being in that church, all those people, the fucking ceremony of it…might as well jump out the fucking window…

Meet her a few more times…do I wanna fuck her again?

Fucking women…where’s my Kitty Zhang? Why am I fucking around in the margins?

Fuck it, Oli….write more…more stories…

Mo Jack Dong…maybe…can’t figure out how to start though…read the little red book and use some of his quotes?

Need to go to China first…all the funky places he went on the long march…go to wiki and check out the names…

Just write it, don’t think about it?

Fucking hell…it’s gonna be fucking supreme…I don’t care who’s written him before, this is gonna be unique…no one’s got my view of it…fucking Chris Hitchens…those snobby ex-pats that can’t write for shit…fucking Chinese elite intellectuals…what do they know about him?

And the rest of them…no one’s got the gamble I’ve got…fucking Eggers…mate, I don’t even want to read your stuff…it’s shit…what the fuck do you know about anything? Fucking voice of a generation…who says this shit? What the fuck has he ever said that sums me up?

All of them…getting your shit in the papers…New Yorker…whatever…who gives a shit? Fucking ordinaries…I pick up all your books and I’m out on the first page…the first words…it’s all the same shit…how to write like a fucking robot…same structure and stories…same flash style…Bukowski wrote circles around the lot of you…and he was one note too…

Bukowski, Orwell…Orwell? He’s ok, I guess…bit of a faker, but at least he tried something…

Who else? Platonov…Fante…that Peru guy…Arguedas…nothing left to lose and he wrote it all out…that’s a fucking writer…shot himself too…

Would I shoot myself? Don’t know if it makes sense…is it vanity to do it when you know it’s gonna be read?

It’s all presentation…how to get away from it?

Gotta humiliate myself in a way that’s not noble…like Bukowski hitting that girl in the bar…

Talking about mental disorders…is it noble?

It’s sympathetic…I read it and I feel like they’re brave to say it…are they? Am I brave to say it…all that anxiety shit?

But we know it’s sympathetic…we know it’s not really our fault?

Reduced thinking…we’re machines, there’s a fault with the machine…is there choice in it? Is it me?

How can I humiliate myself?

Suicide

Mental disorders

Lack of confidence

Depression

False world/ reality

They’re all sympathetic…need something with more shame…

Diary entries aren’t working…go back to fiction?

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  1. The little red box saying No Responses speaks volumes. And then along come me. And the little red box disappears.

  2. Feel the power, man.

    But the red box is still there…

    I’m gonna stop these diary entries. Everyone thinks they’re fiction. And by everyone, I mean no one.

  3. I’ve never understood what love has to do with talking. We all do too much useless fucking talking anyway.

  4. Yeah. maybe not love, but i like someone who can speak and surprise me.

  5. Love is a touch, about that touch being comfortable, about that comfort being everything that is effortless and impossible, all in one fleeting, interminable moment. It’s a soothing torrent of molten lava, it’s a barefoot tapdance atop razorblades. It’s a tight pussy, and strong cup of coffee, a caffeinated orgasm. It’s the drool from a stolen afternoon nap, it’s sailing like a dust mote through Sunday sunbeams. It’s an Xbox 360 that doesn’t fucking break on you.

  6. Personally, I think we’re going to destroy the ionosphere with all the incessant meaningless garbage conversations that float up there, and the whole goddamn planet will be destroyed because nobody would shut the hell up.

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