nada mucho

i dont really have much to say. i just kinda want to write. there are words in me that need to form a sequence of sentences. what these sentences may read has yet to be determined, but they are there to be made, and here in lies the issue. ive got every part to the engine, but i dont know how to build it. i want to say something, but i dont have anything to say.

maybe i should write about that girl that got her feet cut off while riding a roller coaster. someone explained to me that it was a faulty wire that got loose and whipped across her ankles, cleanly slicing her achilles, and that her feet fell right off. they had to have a crew search the grounds for her amputated appendages. it wasnt said how long it took, and it was unclear if they were re-attached. so i couldnt really write too much about that, but i could go into detail about the possible circumstance, delving deep into my vocabulary (or more accurately, digging deep into the thesaurus section of dictionary.com) to describe the faces of those sitting next to her, when they realized upon the end of the ride that the girl next to them wasnt screaming in horror at the 3 story drop her superman themed roller coaster cart fell from, but the fact that during the fall, her fucking feet were cut off by a god damned faulty wire.

but that seems so trivial. a waste of syllables. wouldnt it?

i could write about the dog outside the bar. the one that sat there behind i small gate and looked up at us with long, frightened eyes. it was a pit bull. it had big paws, jose said that meant it was young. a pup. it laid there in the night, on a patch of grass, not moving. we called for it, hesitantly stretching our hands out to it, kissing the air, our voices high and nonthreatening. it just lay and stared. unmoved. it was a boy. his ears were back, jose said that meant it was afraid and also that it wasnt aggressive. someone brought it a bowl of water and we left to the bar and i poured us all a shot and we moaned for the pup. we worried for him. no, i wont write about that, not now. i'll write about that later. that deserves some time.

i could write about the party i went to. the one that i didnt get home from until 7am. yeah, i could write about that. there were those guys that tried to barge in, 3 black guys from the block. i wasnt there when it happened, i had gone to another party to pick up my friend, but when i got back i was told all about it. these guys were "thugs" and one of them, "started acting crazy," because apparently he had grown up in the neighborhood and felt that, as a neighbor, he should be allowed to come to the party. i guess it didnt really go anywhere, though there was soem subtle racism that i would try to explore. but that would take time, thought, etc. nah, i wont write about that.

huh. i guess i dont have anything to right about. man. that sucks. oh well.