Unbridled Chaotic Glory?

THE PURPOSE OF THIS BLOG: STRAY BULLETS

I envisioned putting together a crazy-quilt work of pieces of this and that, a montage of experience from the point of view of Time, Setting, Language, Gender, Age, Race, Religion, Etc, echos of a self that some could identify with or be interested to learn about. I have no idea how I will organize my material, nor do I know what my material should actually be. I am like many in that I am constantly writing things, commenting online, sending and receiving e-mail, etc and I thought, what delicious scraps of a human life? What would it be like to preserve them if not for literature, then for history?

I hope that composing and preserving such a work as I envision Stray Bullets to possibly be, when I do envision it, (about 300 pages, collection of short bits here and there with some theme after I truly find it), is only a venial sin, just me creating even more literature in an over-populated world of aimlessly flying yet completely unavoidable packets of information, random literature, complicated microwave ovens, 53-button remote controls, and families of pink flamingos. Flamingo-Crossing. Warning, Achtung, Cuidado! My favorite aimless bit of garbled information has to be a yellow traffic sign in a neighborhood: Slow Children Playing. Well, I think we should grant the last one credit for being pretty hilarious. Hilarious information is ok, then, right? The problem is figuring out which is more hilarious, my grocery list or my Walgreens receipt from last year? Maybe those slow children would know. Maybe they just don't run fast? Well, whoever these slow children are, someone did find the time to post a piece of information up to try to look out for their well-being. Our glut of information is so bad that we had to make it illegal to post signs on telephone poles. This being yet another blanket of totally useless information might be criminal if it were ever noticed, but therein lies my salvation. I'm pretty sure I'm SAFE.



I don't touchtype and I often filp letters in wrods. One might think that after seven years spent earning my four-year college degree from a respectable college which pushed writing, well, you'd think that I should be able to touch-type by now! No can-do. I always prepared my focus, done my research, made careful notes, problem-solved, brain-stormed, digested my material, then I spit them out onto my computer screen with a vengeance, well, sometimes. I liked most to work straight out of my mind with rare visits back to notes for references, facts, etc. How my fingers flew! BUT, I kept my eyes on the keys, too. I glanced keyboard to screen, screen to keyboard. If I lose reference of sight of my keyboard, it's like my fingers just plain forget where any of the letters are in the qwerty arrangement.

I flun ked out of typing the day we introduced F to ASS. I failed 10-key as well. No can do, says my brain. I says, can do in my own way, just don't ask me to type up copy. It's slow-going utter misery, with losts of mistakes.

Well things are as they are, and I am probably committing the crime of the century by creating my own little brand of a mostly useless particular information packet - but I will likely never be caught, and if I am, (which I won't), maybe the cops might be having problems with those damned Flamingo's again. Ya think?

This is the best I could come up with once I sat down. It took me a very long time. I deleted a lot. I repaired lsots of scre-ups. Hopefullly I got them lla.
Dyslexics of teh world, Untie!! I've not ever been diagnosed, but I have to wonder. I'm sure I have ADD, for example, and have had it for all of my life. Hmm.

Now, when I go back to read this, will it carry back to me some clue of why I wrote it or how it might be helpful to me as a unifying game plan for this project? Maybe randomness and such would itself be the theme. Revel, then, in your messy desk; celebrate it in all its unbridled chaotic glory!

Well, that last bit was rather cheery, and so far quite on-topic.

--Danielle