Facebook status updates part XXIV (April – May 2014)

Today I am grateful that telepathy exists only in fiction.

Tomorrow I am grateful that time travel isn't possible.

Today I was grateful time travel isn't real. Until it happened, and I read the news. Saw the paper. Listened to the radio. Now I don't know what to be grateful for. With just two numbers, I could have won the lottery. But if time travel was real, they would win all the lotteries.

I am grateful I have aspirin for problems like this.

Today I am grateful that, some day, my parents will tell me I am adopted.

.... they have to tell you eventually, right?

Today I am grateful that

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At the rally, he wore a clown costume complete with red nose and make-up, holding up a sign reading: ‘Is it OK to rape me now?!’

So many people said: “Yes.”

I tried so hard

to escape you

but every mirror

I broke showed

your face.

Today I am grateful that I am not grateful that I am gratefully non-grateful about things I should be grateful for notwithstanding being grateful about gratitude and naturally not ungrateful or disungrateful except insofar as one can be not grateful. This is great, right?

Say NO to MMOs! (Magically Modified Organisms.)

If our lives were silent films, perhaps then they might make sense.

At 2 am my brain decided to wake me from sleep and inform me that Bugsy Malone shot and killed other gangsters with a rocket launcher while screaming: “I am the Congress!” at them.
Al Capone finally killed him with a bazooka. … You may now return to your own thoughts.

“You always are writing stories for me. So for your birthday I thought I’d write you a story.”
“You did?”
“It’s sexetry!”
“… thank you, Grandma. I – I’ll read it later, okay?”

"There is something terrible inside you," the witch whispered to Boy.
"I think, Boy said after he thought it over, "you mean my conscience? Bess says that not everyone has one and Mr. Fox would probably call it a burden. Do you mean that?"
"Oh, child. If only it was that simple. The world holds many evil people who would be quite less evil were they entirely devoid of goodness."

"I have a door I dare not open," he said.
"And you expect me to do something about this?" I enquired.
"I merely expect you to know."

Trying to find a poetics of numbers
Is why I am in jail for tax evasion

Every time I hear a siren
I remember why you left.

I'm grateful for the lack of sirens between my to-do items. So much to do, so little time to do it in it.

Today I am quite grateful that I am not a golfer, since four seems to be the only number that they know -- why else would they shout it to each other all the time?

“Six Word Poem Series Number One”

The writer soon discovered, not long after becoming a Writer, that the delete key was the only friend they had

I was so scared that I kissed you and I am so sorry that there isn’t enough magic in the world to stop you from thinking it was something more.

"Goodbye," I lied.

Tonight has been one for research. Results thus far:
'Felo de se' is an archaic word for suicide (meaning felon of yourself, since suicide counted as a felony), Vancouver's war against doorknobs, a kidnapped boy who got free via using gospel songs, how many people were murdered world-wide in 2012, why people gesture even if no one is looking at them. Also the notion that yawning cools brains along with how the moon's phases affect life on earth. And stuff about making fake mermaids,a missing kid who only existed on facebook and reading a patent on vacuuming corpses for burial.
... some of this will be used in a YA story.

Today I am grateful that you read this -- no, really: you could have been reading far better things, more edifying things, works of literature or even of lol and yet you read this long sentence (which will not include a metaphor for prison or a joke about meeting a four) when you could have been doing so many other things with your time and in the interests of making this post even longer I am going to now list all 10,234 other things you could have been doing.
Or perhaps not.

Today my attitude of gratitude is that I am not an internet meme. Unlike you. You know who you are.

Today I am so grateful that I have finally run out of ways to love you.

Today my altitude is full of great outed that auto-cured prevent spelling errors.

What if the dialogue “??” isn’t really a question at all?
What if it is what happens when someone shouts “!!” during a fire and the heat warps the punctuation?

Today I am filled with gratitude that every 'what X should you be' quiz on the internet is clearly right.

Today I am grateful, so grateful, that you are not real.

Today I am grateful there is no such thing as ghosts. Because if there was, I could not bear to haunt the person you have become.

Today I am grateful that this is twitter so I only have 140 characters to write what I am grateful for and it is easy to run out before I ha

Today I am grateful that only Hoffa knows where the real bodies are buried.

Today I want to be grateful that I have finally, probably, stopped writing the sci-fi short stories that were distracting me from novel-stuff. Maybe. Possibly.
(Probably not. I wonder if a muse ends up grateful if you chain them in a basement and try to get them to shut up.)

My superpower turned out to be the ability to push open doors even if they were pull-only.

“It’s a lie that we don’t drink wine. Anything red is – acceptable. Good. A substitute.” The vampire slumped back into the cheap plastic chair, somehow seeming gorgeous while doing that, and glared definitely at the circle of humans around him. “My name is Alvin Smythe; I am 212 years old and I am an alcoholic.”

"Everything I am is made up of things you are not." The tulpa smiled. "Is that not reason enough to fear me?"

Bodies float and yet we drown

Not under water but the weights

Of everything we are and aren’t.

I now picture a world. A world where the computers have taken over, and all factories are run by robots. Where sewing is illegal, because the robots do it better. Do it faster. Do it stronger. But one group of renegade humans is trying to reclaim this ancient rite, draw up on the power of needle and thread to weave a tapestry for the ages. And they shall call themselves ... Cosplay.

The fox stopped and stared up at him. “You think the police will have your best interests in mind?”

“And you do?” Boy’s hands flew over his mouth and his eyes widened. “I mean – I didn’t mean – I mean –,” he got out, words stumbling over each other.

“Whose interests do you think I serve?” the fox said and his eyes glittered in kinship with pyrite. “Well, Boy?” he said when Boy didn’t speak.

“I don’t know.” Boy forced himself not to look away, though the effort left him trembling. “I want to trust you because-because trust isn't part of the Wasting. Because trust is what people do. And going away, too, in the end.”

After our world ended (it was not quite the end, but we could see it from where we were) the next war began, fought in gardens and kitchens across the world as the zombies tried to find the perfect blend of 11 herbs and spices to make humans taste just like KFC.

"If it pleases the court, I submit that I see only one monster here: it is the one that dares to call itself justice."

The first fine handed out for excessive exuberance told a story all its own.

After years of effort, the time traveller was able to get the length of twitter messages reduced to 100 characters. It was still not enough to prevent world war three. Not enough at all.

The Detective smiled sourly. "I am sorry commissioner, but this case looks weak. Not replace-sugar-with-Splenda weak but still pretty weak."

"I drink tea with honey in it."

"Ah. Do you reuse tea bags? The metaphor might hold together if --."

"Get out of my office! If you ever mention that idea again I will have you fired."

"Sir, there are worse things. We ARE trying to catch a serial killer."

"No, there are not."