Big Long Open Gash

It strikes me that the word BLOG ought to be an abbreviation for something along the veins of Big Long Open Gash. I am giving you my wrists here, so that you can read what is written in the veins along them. I don’t want to tell you anything unnecessary in this B.L.O.G  but parts of me know that everything is necessary, and that being what I intend to be here, which is a source of inspiration – in the least wanky way,  is a noble cause. Before you leave with disdain for my pompousness, let me tell you that when I talk about being a source of inspiration, I want you to please think of this in the way true linguistic philologians understand; for to be a source is to be a kind of tap. I will show you water, but I am not the place where the water comes from. Where does the water come from? That is the question.

And so I enter this B.L.O.G with infinite eyes. What a strange word that nub of letters is. I won’t go into my musings on the odd conglomeration of letters that word involves. I will however say straight out that I refuse to be one of those people who disdains the demise of the English language. I think it’s fucking brilliant that google is a verb, an adverb, a noun AND a potential emotion (’googlation’. I just made that up. The elation one feels when thinking up adjectives which roll off the tongue to one’s fingers).  I think everyone ought to wank off and DIE to their hearts content over creating new words. Even if it means English as a language turns to dirt. Think of the worms! Think of the worms! Think of the birds that will come to eat the worms!

Submissions of new words welcome. Please email me at sophie@papercastlepress.com. Perhaps I will create my very own dictionary of Sophisms from this new endeavour.

A little known fact: Norfolk Island Pines, those tall bendy odd looking trees (kind of like me) which are strewn all along the coast of my austral country, were introduced by pirates, or other such sea-faring men, to grow, chop, strip and erect into ship masts for their weather beaten sea vessels. Isn’t that a very sincerely GREAT endeavour?

I end this Big Long Open Gash entry with the images that grace my eyes these new hours. Isn’t the drip of new hours astonishing? And still we keep reappearing. I used to be surprised that cars stopped for me in the street, as if I wasn’t really sure I actually existed. Nowadays, I am more apt to expect that the very fabric of space and time is going to rip open, and suck everything away with it down a black hole. I find it odd that things just stick around. I have strange visions of reality like a film screen ripping open with ‘The Creature’ emerging from it, and sucking everything in the vicinity down again, into its Big Long Open Gash.

(emphasis on the ‘I have strange visions’)

More to come.

This fire is combustible, resin streaked:
Who is the being that keeps putting wood on our flames?