M and I decided to walk down to Good Will on Tuesday. It was getting dark, but the dogs that the Sullivans have on Colton Avenue were still visible. M is terrified of them. A German Shepard (of course) and a Chihuahua (how droll).

We got there, and began our trek around the fluorescently lit excuse for a building. The clothes were organized by color. Walking through the aisles felt like what I imagine walking through a rainbow would be like, that is, what I thought it would feel like before I understood that rainbows are a trick of light and can never be reached. After sifting through crimson crushed leather shoes, neon orange fishnet stockings, goldenrod booty shorts, and veridian tie-dye tank tops, I found myself in an ocean of worn, torn and, of course, mostly ugly navy blue.

M was telling me about how her brother, when they still talked (when she was 9), told her a rap group on MTV was called Aunt Jemima and the cottonpickers, when I found it. A plain dark blue shirt with, in bold silver font, lined with white, the two words "Air Force." I had to have it. $1.99. Two dollars. Two words. Two opinions. Love it. Hate it. Naturally, I was of the later opinion. I almost felt bad buying two dollar clothes because I thought they were cool, when others had to buy two dollar clothes out of necessity, but that would be too human of me.

I had plans for this shirt. It was like a blank canvas. I could cut out a bomb out of felt and sew it into the shirt. I could spray silver paint of a hybrid bird/plane on to it. I could do anything. I wanted something powerful. So the conclusion that I just wanted to sew some words into it was reached. I'm awful at drawing, so words were my most powerful choice. I wasn't sure which words. But it had to be great. The decision came fast, which is unlike me, but that only reinforced my decision. It came to me quicker than Andy's first blow job, really. "I Wish I Were Dead." There's a certain ring to it. I asked M what she thought. I'd never been looked at like I were crazy before, her stare caught me by surprise. "What is it?" I asked. "Your parents won't let you wear that, and the school will send you to a counselor. Don't do it."

My heart was set on it. I really would wish I were dead if I were in the air force. I see how some people might think that is offensive. After all, they are putting their lives on the line for me, and all it costs is the murder of others. I tried to come up with something else, but "I make money when babies die" didn't seem right.

There was something about M's look, though, that still haunts me. She really thought I was crazy. I guess she didn't understand. It was the perfect set of words for the perfect shirt. I know I'm not crazy. But I've always wondered, how would I know? Do the insane ask themselves if they are insane? Can they? Maybe they are just as sure as I am that they have their wits about them? Can they have inner monologues questioning their own sanity and the sanity of others? I guess I won't know. Or maybe I'm already answering my own questions. All I know is, I'm making the shirt.
Last edited by DorkusMalorkus at Apr 4, 2008,
For clarification, I know this isn't much of a complete story, but I had an idea, and this is the first half of it. I did it on the spot because I knew I would never come back to it, if I didn't write it out and put it here now. I have to let the other half sit in my mind for a bit before I write part 2, which will also be on the spot.

I'm just running with the idea, not really refining anything, and not necessarily working toward some profound expression of my psyche. Take it at face value. Judge harshly.
Hey, I have a Hybrid Wolf German Shepard (He looks like an All Black German Shepard with the Hair of a Husky, but no Maine like a Husky has...he has like the Husky Thick Maine Hair all over his Body) and that's a Male Dog, and I have a White Chihuahua Female....Aint nothing wrong w/ having a German Shepard & a Chihuahua
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Quote by DorkusMalorkus
Take it at face value. Judge harshly.

I will.

To be honest, this almost felt wasted on me. There were moments here and there that were interesting... but the rest seemingly lacked any emotion or relevance. Your little tangents throughout the piece (talking to yourself) while sort of adding to the characterization, took away from the story because they weren't set apart (italicized) or anything. At times, it was hard to follow what was going on and generally to really get into the piece. By the end of the piece, I was simply waiting for it to be over. It just didn't engage me in any way. The parts that were "introspective" felt like they were trying to hard, the parts that were random didn't seem to add anything, the descriptions, while setting a nice scene, felt disconnected from the piece... like you were writing two different pieces, one to describe the place and one that was happening in it... and they generally didn't mesh well for me.

However, the thing I did like about this was the idea. I loved the ideas behind the whole piece. The introspection parts were wonderful in idea, the "monologue" was wonderful... there was much potential here, but as you said... I can tell its not refined. There was too little positive execution to truly flush out the ideas and make them have as much impact as they need too.

Sorry for being so negative. If you would like, the equation one in my sig (if you haven't already, I've lost track) I'd love more comments on it.