Two: 101

I'm awfully confused by the blogsite's understanding of time. I was just looking at my first blog, which is simply terrible, and it was apparently written on the eve of New Year's, which is wrong! Oh well, fukc komputers. Pardon me, "Take It Down" is what I'm listening to.
Gotta change the subject. I've been obsessed with these The Wailin' Jennys, check out their 40 Days and Firecracker LPs, since my beloved cousin Beth has been so kind to me. I got two of their aforementioned albums over Thanksgiving while at our family cabin in Ruidoso, New Mexico. That break was a blessing, as is this, but fukcin family is funny yet frustrating as fukc because I'm apart of it. Yah'mean? I inherited all of their faults.
Which I recognized, or rather re-cognized, because today I packed everything, planning my return for Montana tomorrow morning, a Thursday, at 7am, and just before I planned on going to sleep my father walks into the room, the house's study with not much more than four walls, two doors, two bookshelves, one dart board, one fish tank, and unaccounted miscellany. My brother Graham, often referred to as Grump or Grum [but not Grammie, don't ask] or GrA-ham or give me some time to think of other pseudonyms...and I were enjoying a game of darts. He was beating my ass, including one game to 301 and two to 101, until finally on the third, more brief game I got him somehow in one turn; in a game, first to 101, I had three darts and hit a triple 20 with the first, a double 20 with the second, and a 1 with the third. Pure luck. Yeah, I recognize I still have a losing record overall.

Anyways, there were many other things that happened today. I woke up at eleven again, quite a late tick I tell ya. We went straight to Sonic, at first planning to go to a Waffle House but thought better of it at the last moment, and got some breakfast there; a croissant sausage sandwich, french toast sticks, french fries and an awfully scringy coffee. Then we went back to the Half-price Bookstore where I purchased Dickens' Hard Times, some book about The Evils of Revolution in the philosophy section, and a short compilation of poems by T.S. Eliot. Then we went to an outlet mall in Cypress, TX, some 'burb just outside Houston's limits, and I got myself some quality, relatively cheap running shoes. Excuse my life in excess for now, I'm living with my parents! No excuses, though. Anyways, then we went to hit a few golf balls at the Top Golf corporate facility. Look it up because it's a great place for gaming, a comparable metropolitan hobby to shooting in the country, good stress relief. Then the rest proceeded...

I'll let my limited audience know that, from here on out, I'm going to cater to them by being more informative by providing oddball pieces of newfound things, such as music, books, movies, other arts, geographies or demographics, blah facts, idioms or proverbs, etc., words, altruism, straight up, and facts that haven't to do with me.

First, for one, for now I suggest to you, since they're playing the background, The Wu-Tang Clan's Enter the 36 Chambers album. I won't go on about it since all y'all niggas gotta listen firsss to go figure, yo.

Then, secondly, I have a word, a;
Word of the day which will become of theme of this blobger, so I feel inclined to share:
Proclivity--from the Oxford English language lexicon stack--def: a tendency to choose or do something regularly; an inclination or predisposition toward a particular thing:

One quatrain

You wouldn't dare take a bite off my slam

Which, somewhat reminiscent to a sand-

Wich, is slathered with peanut butter and,

Although you appear awf'lly jelly, jam?

p.s. pardon one broken promise, but, if I may, here's a little some-willy-nilly-and silly-somethin' from that same evening said promise was put forth...

One

Howdy, hello, dobreutra, hi, and yo y'all,
I sincerely welcome and, albeit inadvertently, cordially invite you and I, being our actual physical, bodily eyes, to this thing, being a blog for online storage of work already written and stream-of-conscious, that I've never considered creating until, say, no more than ten minutes ago. Yet, thanks to a little arachnid spinning a small story on the web and little luck finding such inspiration, here I lay writing.

Now, this isn't me. I never liked blogging. Notebooking is better, more traditional and handwriting is better for the soul somehow.
Honestly, the content found forthcoming will neither consist my physical body nor psychological brain's beliefs, but mere perusal and purge.
I hope. Maybe I'll break that vow, but I'll declare, yes! a declaration;
I'm a liar and, I warn you, don't believe anything you read. Think of this as a television show, it's not real and it's terrible. It's smut, and if you refrain from continuing forth then you'll seldom find something rewarding within these meager and easily misinterpreted words, unless of course you return to your favorite program.

Goddamn! I can't help but think that people have already lost faith in me. Too bad.
Suppose I should tell the people a little about my day, a day that's spanned a whopping fifteen minutes. Oh right! It's New Year's morning, Tuesday. Before it was New Year's Eve which was more substantive. I woke up far too early, around eleven I think. There's no clock in my room, which actually isn't my room because it's the guest room in my parents house which I hadn't been to until the 17th of December two weeks ago, and I have no reason to pick up my cellular phone because no one contacts me on it anyways. Not even one mass text received exclaiming "happy new year!!!" Fortunately that doesn't bother me, not yet. Loneliness is preventable. I've learned to become immune to it. Stoicism is quite the mind state. Just don't take it too far because you'll become as interesting as marble. Perhaps some emotion will onset in a decade or so or more. Maybe not. Who knows?
Anyways, here I am alone in Texas, the state in which I was born, with none but my family. Hell, we were golfing nine holes twelve hours back. I'm astonished that Texas in winter is warmer than Alaska in summer. Too bad it was raining, and I didn't want to go eighteen. I'll never understand why my dad and brother don't like it when I say, "It's not golf season." Then, in three days, I'll be back in Montana playing hockey in less than a week.
Anyways, we left the course to get some beer. I'm less than 150 pages from finishing my book, Mythology by Edith Hamilton, and as we approach the local store, Spec's, there's a Half-Price bookstore and I simply must go in. I do and it's great, the best store I've been to in the south since apparently we went to the same store in Dallas some six to sixteen years back to buy CDs! I buy several titles: Ulysses by James Joyce, Heart of Darkness by Conrad, a Dover collection of Great Love Poems, some Greek play, Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, and a selection of English folklore idylls; all for about 13 bucks. I'm definitely going back before Thursday! Then we went home, I read a little more of my book of over-simplified myths until getting back home. Then I started writing, again!, a play I've been working on since last December, 2011, which I feel I'll never finish. I'm working with too much retrogression. It's a play I plan to adapt into a short film. Then I can begin my Capstone project for my final semester of college.

Lastly, I prompt a promise: I will not contribute another word to this cloud of parchment until I complete that play.
See you when I write you.