Just some Complaints (draft 2)

I spent 2 hours writing this and as I was about to published it I lost connection.  At this point I lost all of what I just wrote.  I lost all of the original work I did, so I rewrote this word for word from memory.  So forgive the edits:

As I woke this morning I came to a few sudden realizations: I dislike Russell Brand, I have a hangover, and I have so much shit to do for finals that I should just give up while I am ahead.  I wonder why Aaron is walking around sneakily in the dining room of my apartment.  I ask him what he is doing.  He says he is ready for breakfast or something.  I tell him he is a bitch.

I remember, at this point the girl that kissed me on the cheek after her boyfriend got pissed and walked out on her at the bar.  I remember how I started the conversation- “Where you from?”  -Thanks Ashton Kutcher.

I wake up more and look down.

My toe is throbbing and there is dried blood caked to my blankets.  My head hurts, my toe hurts, and I am in charge of breakfast.  I need water, coffee, breakfast, and to bullshit with other life forms.  I check my email and notice that I received an email from THU*SH Poetry Blog stating:

Dear Terry,
Thank you for your submission!  We enjoyed them, however they are not a fit for THRU*H.
Please feel free to submit again, we only ask that you wait at least 2 weeks before re-submitting.
We would appreciate if you take the time to report the status of your submission to Duotrope. It helps us and the poet by providing valuable information that is useful when considering submissions. Our listing:http://www.duotrope.com/market_6267.aspx?guid=NEWP
Walker Boneman
Associate Editor
End of Email.

I did not report my status.  Will someone fill it out for me?

I guess I don’t care as much about what they think about my poetry as much I feel that most of the artists/poets that I read in  THRU*H had to of paid to get published, not only that, but I feel that most of the artists have titles behind their names, and schools, and poetry, blah blah.

What has Art come to?  I felt unfairly treated.  However, you won’t hear me complain about it.

As I read on I understand that I have read this before and I dislike it.  I had to of read it somewhere else.  Dan writes more expressively, I won’t expound on that, so if I want to read it I will go to a genuine author, someone with experience.  A life experience, one a person can’t just buy in school.

I wonder if they know what plagiarism is all about too.  I really don’t like poetry anymore.  Apparently Edgar Allen Poe only wrote horror stories.  I guess.  Believe that.  Like words have never been printed on a page.  Like someone describing a sunset or a handicapped child killed by Meth addicts is so original and vivid?  Tell me a real life story, one you are in, like waking up hungover on a saturday morning with your best friends.  Maybe making breakfast and talking shit.

Maybe the author ran out of good ideas.  Maybe the editor fell asleep on the job.  I feel sad and I don’t get it; publishing is a shady industry, but you won’t see me writing about it.  At least my words have been in print a few times before (twice).  Its not who you are its who you know.  I won’t figure it, or know.  Can’t remember how that one goes.  I can’t complain because I am exclusively the writer, the editor, and the publisher of my work.

I came to the understanding that I dislike Russell Brand while I was trying to watch CNN to figure out what the hell Herman Cain was going to do next; because like everything else in politics it personally effects my life-He has fucked so many people.  This totally effects me.  I am interested.  Interesting enough, to me at least, everyone in the whole country media-wise is focusing on adultery and child sex scandals, but a doctor who kills a pedophiliac maniac, a serial child rapist (MJ), is being sentenced to prison.  I can’t complain because I have never been there, so you know.

Really?  We fill our heads with this and wonder why everyone in the United States is on Prozac or Zoloft (aside from doctor prescription industry relations i.e. payouts); which I have taken at some point in my life for an extended time, the drugs that is.  I might have been crazy, or maybe I was crazy to listen to those telling me I was crazy.  I really found out what it was all about.  Boo-hoo.  Eat vegetables, go outside, talk to people who have common interests and goals, don’t take drugs.

Pharmaceutical drugs are a crutch.  You aren’t lame are you?  Antidepressants are a band-aid for what really ails a person.  You don’t see me popping a P after I have a bad day or something.  I used to though, made everything but my dreams less vivid.  I fell asleep at the wheel driving to school and almost drove into the lake.  Now, I’ll probably try to read a book, or take a nap, or talk to someone.  Get some tea or something natural.  Those labs where all those drugs are made are just profit mills, are you paying for them?  Is your doctor getting paid.  If they fixed you how would they make any cash?  How would they pay bills?  I can’t complain though.  I guess I don’t know.  I have not medical licensing and I am a compulsive liar.  Trust me.  Have I said too much?

I sit and drink my coffee and ponder how this will change my life, you know, like how Herman Cain dropping out, or rather “suspending” his campaign, you know, how it will truly effect me-  It really effects me.  Oh wait… I guess my coffee does taste a little different now…

As I am watching, just waiting for the news about this political catastrophe to unfold, I am assaulted by Russell Brand’s silly face all over the t.v., like its another B list movie promo about some crazy christmas adventure where Russell Brand fucks everyone and he is so funny and everyone laughs.  HO HO HO.

Yeah right!

Honestly, there were so many stories last night about mistresses and Hollywood sex scandals that you would have thought it was something new.


Are we all insane?

I don’t know.

So Russell Brand is being interviewed and the interviewer asks about rumors that he and Katie-bigboobs-Perry are breaking up because of his infidelity.  His response, his default reaction rather, was to crap his pants live on television, and to talk in a British accent, real clever like.

Wow, I care.  I turn the channel faster than Russell Brand was found out to never be funny at all, and I tell Aaron how stupid Russell Brand is and how his jokes suck.  I then begin to tell a bunch of super funny jokes about how I am funnier than Russell Brand.  Jokes like:  I am a broke, drunk, college kid, who lives in a pantry and washes dishes for a living, and I can write funnier jokes than Russell Brand, or how I never get paid for writing and my jokes are more relevant and funnier than Russell Brand’s.  I then do a million really crappy Russell Brand impersonations until everyone is laughed to death and I go for another beverage.  I realize even making jokes about Russell Brand is not funny.  I can’t complain though, at least I was alive to tell them.  I can’t complain at least I have a voice to be heard.

This was all after I ripped my toe-nail out with a pliers, but before we went to Muddy’s to get some beers and hot-dogs.  I must admit my beer belly is getting pretty awesome.  I think the hot-dogs helped.  I had the Mexicali Dogs, they were so good I could have ate twenty more.  I can’t complain I felt full after a few minutes, its a bodily function, I just had to wait.  I can’t complain waiting leaves time for thought.

My toe hurts, my big toe.  Just earlier I was in my living room trimming my toe-nails and I over estimated the cut on my big toe, cutting my chunk of nail off about a half an inch deep into the membrane under my nail.  I grabbed a pliers and pulled off the hang-nail.  I could feel the rip and then blood started out.  Ah, I love in home surgeries.  I did not wrap it or anything, just a sock.  By the time I got to Aaron’s, after the bike ride I removed my Timberlands and found that my sock was covered in blood.  Toe nail removal fail.  I can’t complain, I wasn’t trained in this type of procedure.  I can’t complain because I felt something.

I was impressed by the blood that night, but not the pain.  I was impressed by the pain this morning, but the blood was dry.

Kelsey made a joke saying all I do in my blog is complain, so I am sort of proving to her that she is right.  At least she reads.  I can’t complain about her cri

I was hungover because after Muddy’s we drove back to my Apt to hang with my roomies!  Woo!  Luke B. came over and that’s when the night got wild.  Boom.  We had a few drinks, some Heggies Pizza, cause this is Minnesota aye, and we all passed out.  Not before we harassed people with a lazerpointer, and made fools of ourselves in front of this foreign chick from Ireland, apparently.  Whatever.

All of this and I could not get this one image out of my head.  All day.  Russell Brand.  Why has news contributed so drastically to a fixated state?

Finally finals.  For how much I have learned I have forgotten more.  Instead of doing work on finals I come up with an idea for a blog about food in the Minneapolis Metro area.  I am sure someone will steal this idea because it is genius.  I also feel its been done, so I won’t venture on it yet.  I sit for a few hours and write about how this all happened; this Russell Brand thing, this hangover, and the finals situation.  I think it is because of how life twists and pushes us.  I guess.

Some things I do know:  It is cloudy out, it is snowing, the girl at the counter is cute, the table I am working on is made of wood, I am in a daze, I am drinking coffee, politics do not effect me, comedians, artists, poets, and editors are all paid off and it is political.

I can’t complain, a minor scare.  I can’t complain, I almost cried.

Some things I don’t know:


About Terry Scott Niebeling

Hello, My name is Terry Scott, a human being with flaws. twitter: @sirterryscott Buy my ebooks: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1/191-4788099-1818040?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=terry+scott+niebeling
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One Response to Just some Complaints (draft 2)

  1. korahomes says:

    Unfinished. Repetitional themes: girls, beer, sex, sleep, friendships, incapacitation. Surprise us all with a profound epiphany, I dare you to change a day.

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