ChAsE/s bLoG

This unfiltered thought is a stream of data straight from my mind. I don't want to use punctuation because it feels like some kind of end to a means but to make it better for you, I'm keeping the periods and the commas and the other shit all right where it should be. I haven't even looked at the screen yet. I just want to see where this goes. I might even leave this unedited, so if you see some typos, I apologize. I suppose I am just trying to loosen up the brain and free up some space before I go to bed. I am hoping to dream. I really want to have some kind of weird bothersome dream that makes my day tomorrow a little harder. Have you ever had a dream that sticks with you for a day or two? the kind you can't quite let go of? It's such a profound experience to have your core shaken by your own subconscious. God I hope I spelled that word right. I have trouble spelling that one, for whatever reason. No matter how many times I write it, it seems to either be wrong or ...

Written by C. A. Winter   The boys are hanging out in the spotlight under the silos. Robbie is perched on the truck bed with a lap of unopened beers and a tray with some weed. His hands are sticky from picking it apart. Alan, who’s leaning on the back of the truck, forgot to bring the scissors this time. Brendan and Will are standing nearby with a beer in each hand, and they’re all arguing about what might’ve caused their class to be a bunch of fuck ups. Next week, they’re set to graduate high school but none of them have a clue what’s next. As they drink and smoke, things are getting a bit hazy, and the meaning of the madness is becoming clear to Alan. He’s listening to Robbie make fun of Will’s uninteresting opinion on the meaning of life; there is no meaning.  Alan crunches his feet on the gravel and stops them. “You know what the real problem is?” “What’s that, man-“ Will looks up from his beer.  “The real problem is our dads, man.” Robbie pipes up, “Ole man never hur...

 The One Chapter Project In the summer of 2022, I was gifted a laptop on my birthday for the intention of learning how to code. I bought a collection of books on the subject, was working through an online course, and had full intention of that to become my career. Then the AI came.  I saw right aways that learning how to code in this economy might not be the strongest pull towards a meaningful career- especially not as someone who was into their twenties and wasn't gifted in mathematics or computer science to begin with. It was a pipe dream, and the smoke vanished in the wind. So I took up a job at an insurance agency, and called it good.  The laptop sat on my dresser for a few months and the silver finish greyed with dust.  I used to paint in my old apartment. There were linoleum floors and lots of room to spread out in. Pictures of skulls and faces and landscapes hung around my bedroom and living room. Since I'd moved to a different apartment, I didn't have space t...

Written by C. A. Winter. Part 1. His cell service dropped about fifteen minutes ago and the radio shifted from country to jumbled words to a collection of frequency bursts. He’d made a turn down a long winding dirt road and was nearing a spiked rock formation that he’d been warned of.  You’ll see two granite spears. Count three driveways past those on the right, then take the next available left. Someone at a gas station half an hour back was kind enough to sketch the rocks on a wrinkled heat-sensitive receipt. The word ‘ ondom ’ had a black line in front of it where one of the rocks peaked.  Radio off now, he rolled his window down an inch to let his sitting air breathe in the pines. Cool October air flooded the cab as he veered between washboard and mud ruts. Gin and juniper, or Christmas. Too early for Christmas, he thought. He dug through his centre console for a cigarette and lit it with a long barbecue lighter. Some nameless through-town’s gas station was out of cigarett...

I finished reading "Normal People" by Sally Rooney this week. What a treat. The book revolves around a relationship between Marianne Sheridan and Connell Waldron; two broken and confused college students just trying to figure what life is all about. On the surface, I thought the book was about their relationship, but after some thought I believe it's less about their relationship and more about them as individuals. Or about individuals in general.  To sum the characters up, Connell is an anxious but well treated boy from a poor family, and Marianne is an anxious and mistreated girl from a rich family. Neither of them have fathers, both of them are highly intelligent, and at varying degrees they both don't know what's best for themselves. Sabotage, communication issues, anxiety and depression, and any other regular human problems that two undeveloped people face together all come to light between them. This is what makes them normal people, despite the author's...

 Good evening, however. I regret to inform you that it is in fact the morning, not the evening. At the time I am writing this, it is 4:18am on Tuesday the 11th of November. 11/11/25. That number feels significant in some way, but then again we have one just like it every year. I digress. In my un-slept state, I decided it might be in my best interest to take this time to do some light journaling while the blood brain barrier is thin with exhaustion. I am exhausted, but I am restless, and I cannot sleep for the life of me. Nothing I've tried works; hot tea, cold water, quick bath, bathroom trip, anxiety medication, nothing. I've laid with my head on the once cold side of a pillow and tossed it around to experience the chilled silk sheets once more but still I cannot sleep. I tried taking a walk around my house but the 1250 square feet don't make for much of a walking path since almost half of is it is the master bedroom where my fiance lays peacefully and unbothered by my a...