A Freewrite I Saved To Preview But Found Too Horrible…

After 30 seconds of holding a kick stance sideways with my leg in the air, I lost my balance and almost fell over.

“Ok, other side,” she said.

The routine has a few parts that are hard for me, and it’s going to be a while before I can do as much as I want to, without hurting as much as I do. There have been a few times when I thought about quitting. I walked out to get a drink from the fountain and wondered what would happen if I just kept walking down the hall.

“I’d stop getting better, and feel bad. Been there. That feels worse.”


I had a dream that I walked through the crowd at a rave and plucked little items off the candiekids. Then I walked through other gatherings, collecting articles of clothing. When I reached a strip club, I tore the clothes off a few men and hurled their naked bodies up onto the stage. That part was in slow motion.

Turned around and handed an armful of clothing to girls who were just standing there, without any. Then we were all sitting down, watching as some men covered themselves with their hands. One sat under the lights trying to make sense of things. Another guy got to his feet, raised his arms and started dancing. I think I laughed at everyone, and that it ended there.

Also had a dream that I went up to heaven and knocked Jesus so hard upside the head that his entire chair fell over backwards. He was all…arms up, flailing. Had some kinda white dress on.

I want a dress. I don’t have one. I want one, sometimes. But I’m afraid I’d just spill something on it. Today I’ve already taken my shirt to wipe the coffee I spilled. And that’s just cause it was too far down to bend over and lick up.

Maybe a blue one?

Five A.M. and it is especially hard to be around. An expired placeholder from a bad book is a senior photo of Mandi. No counterspell; take one step backwards.

Magnifying glass held to my forehead reveals FACT: The grasshopper who played all summer long is bitter because she knows she could have done better.

Feels scared lately. Doesn’t want to think about anything. Doesn’t think about anything. Just wants to play.

8 Cups Of a Coffee Pot Later Accompanied By A Recurring Daymare that borders on hallucination, as it is both unwanted and unreal. The spider with one leg is holding up a bloody hatchet and laughing with my voice.

Autumn (unamused by my imagination): What are you doing to yourself?
Spider says: I’m hacking us the fuck up! I’ve just hacked me! All connections severed. No flow. I’m a big boiling ball of insect holding a goddamn hatchet and you say no to drugs! Imagine how much cooler I’d be right now if you had just put acid in your lower eyelid.
Autumn: You laugh and say creative things, but we’re sad.
Spider (waving cartoon hatchet): So come here! It’ll be hilarious.

I did that once; I pulled some legs from a Daddy Long Legs and then felt terrible, knowing it was newly disabled. It felt like this:

! I see you, bad thing. You are A SPIDER.
**picking at the legs in a bold move, maybe just a few years old**
(I’m sorry, but you are a spider.)
**seeing evil spider hobble off, forever worse off since me**
Oh… Oh, I’m sorry, Spider!

Coincidentally, I haven’t wished myself on anything or anyone, since.

Cue lack of transition. Cued.

Care packages often come with a miniature fixer-upper kit. Mine sat on the floor of my dorm and I stared at the screwdriver and sewing kit until it was suddenly taking apart the drawers and shelving to our complex. The strict honor student across the hall has no idea that I spent an afternoon crawling through what was once part of her closet. She probably figures her fingers are the only ones that have leafed through her diary and read thoughts such as “today during phone sex with my boyfriend I had an orgasm without touching myself”.

?! A little impressive. A little hard to look at her with a straight face, after she got back.

* * *
I remember standing at the window overlooking the campus at night. The very tall, muscular lesbian opened her door. I turned around and she screamed at a loud, high pitch before grabbing her heart.

“I did NOT know you were there.”
“Yeah. People don’t normally stand in the dark like this.”
* * *

Sitting in the cafeteria, the view of food on my plate is obstructed by a red rose.

“Will you join our sorority?”

* * *
“I can’t find my other shoe and church starts in like 10 minutes!”
“Hey – don’t worry. I’ll help ya.”

I threw one of every pair you own in the dumpster behind our building. But let me look under the couch just in case I missed that one..

* * *
On the back of the bathroom door was a chore list, with the days of the week written up. Noticing it for the first time, I’m talking into a cordless phone and say, “Hahaha, I see here that the college scholars have spelled Wednesday w-e-n-s-d-a-y.” Later that day, I notice that it says: w-e-(BIG ARROW INSERTION) “D”-n-“E”-s-d-a-y THERE IS THAT BETTER, BITCH?”

RA: I bet it was those boys downstairs!
Autumn: What, now?
RA: Someone changed F-House to say F-Hoes.
Autumn: How immature.

“That’s funny. I misplaced the second cd to my Julie Andrews boxset.”
Hmmm. Did you try looking on the ground outside where all those sharp, sparkly pieces are?
“You’ll just have to play the first disc twice!”
“tee hee! Okay!”
Folks in a town that was quite remote heard
Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo
Lusty and clear from the goatherd’s throat heard
Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oooo


“This is our last show, eva!” said the Sex Pistols guy, once more.

Stop right there. You’re not allowed to assume anything before even having started this entry! Wait!

“I knew she’d be back” is not entirely accurate, for several reasons. First of all, modifications have stripped this station of look, causing me to be less here. How can I be? You can’t see me.

Might not even be me. I could be someone else. You ever think of that? There’s no way to match these words with anything you’ve collected.

“Besides the fact that it sounds just like you.”

*giving the “shut up” face*


The filtering web remains, separating me from everything else before it. It’s not so much that I have returned…

you’ve just decided to try and follow.

“It’s not so much that I have”? Why does that sound so uppity? I always talk like that. “As though from with having in the event that is particular…”

Half of me explains, “That shouldn’t have occupied so many seconds” and the other half corrects, “You coulda said that faster.” More bare bones yet: Bitch, shutchurmouth.

I’m so fucking tired, right now. I wish I had better concentration on this. What am I saying? Is it any good? My leg hurts.

I’m uncomfy.

I wish I could write with my eyes closed. Without having to type. I just passed a major zone, trying to get as close as I could to raw thoughts. Now I’m way over here and the stuff’s somewhere in the middle. I wonder if I fell down into bed…

testing testinh 123 i am now tyoug wutg y etes clised. can you tel? man i hoe i never gho bling because i dont remember where all the kys are. i use mu mifflr fingers most of the time s the dont always have a place to retrn to fepending on where on the kdyboard i need to jump to. i am going to fall aslee doing tis and te laptop will sit here all night long and i will wake up with canverin my stomch. actually its kind of sitting on my hipboned and ctofch. i’ll have ctoch cancer.

*eyes open*

One time I was falling asleep over at Mandi’s and she kept me talking…or more, I had been listening to her and saying lots of, “yups”… so far into sleep I’m still recognizing the commands, and after the next “you know what I mean”ish cue, I hit a really weird stage…

I was seeing the room we were sleeping in, and in walks a classmate. Stands right next to the oppositte couch where mandi is.

“Yeah, Autumn?”
“Jenni’s in the room.”
“*silent pause* she is, huh?”
“She has a cast on her arm.”
“You see her?”
“Yeah. She broke her arm.”
“You are really scaring me!” and i think she was laughing.

I heard her saying all of this, in reality. And I … think I grasped…I dont know. I had to tell Mandi, like I knew she couldn’t see her. I was somewhere in between…

I want to go back to my unsupervised mind.

One summer night, I slept in a tent in someone’s front yard. they woke up and said,

“It was so funny. This jet went by overhead and woke me up, and you whispered, ‘Air raid!’ and kept right on sleeping.”


A Proper Funeral, or, All She Wrote

What if one of the best things you can do is shut down?

The idea of leaving, so to speak, threatened the journal accumulation and ricocheted off the neural walls for about a month, now. I’d have done this sooner, but the pathways are long and the bullet would seem missing for spells at a time before returning forefront. With knowing everything I wanted to write last night at 2 A.M, all I could do was sit up and stare at the white entry box as the words flashed and never got copied. Now I’m going to try to reconstruct parts of the idea that I remember, because it is important and not getting away this time.

It is goodbye.

There’s no reason why I can’t continue to upload my brain into an online blog. It has recorded dreams that I would have forgotten and captured people in certain lights that my humanity will be unable to always hold them in. I’ve read over the past three years and found bits of behavior that I didn’t even know I exercised. More importantly, a person can start from the beginning and watch me get better and better –one good sign in a dark sky. And of course, what I can’t deny being really neat about it was how I used this device to pay tribute to the pieces of myself that someone else knocked off.

One thing I don’t want to do right now, is broadcast. This process is a cry without echo, uninfluenced by anyone there. It’s too short of blood to be giving away while I try to peer through backwards type and watch the eyeballs, watching the words. Some are blue. Some are red and leaking. And from the sound of the future, they’ll eventually have designs on the whites as well. Some I’ll miss, but it’s just another good excuse to take off unless I want attachments to glass pixels.

This isn’t the activity for me at this time. Thank you to everyone who commented and said that my journal was entertaining. Sorry I don’t have any kind of ending – there’s too much else to do. First thing on the agenda is tonight’s kickboxing class. How can I write up an ending when I’m learning how to inflict pain with my foot? The story is just getting good.

It was a long time on a green microraft with my butt smack down on the chip floating through numbers and wires. After finally reaching a glacier of fact and solid information, I knocked on the iron deposit and it rang a hollow vibration of truth – but not the sound of freedom.

End trans.

Dream Record


This one started with loud dog barking.

I’m in someone’s living room watching tv with a few people – the show had a plot I was registering, but that info’s gone. A dog is barking in the next room and a girl says that the dog clearly sees something, but no one’s in the room. Then she gets a little weird and is like, “I know who it is! It’s this girl!” and shows us an old photo of some female.

“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because they found her blood in that room.”

I get really scared, sequence over.

Then I was somewhere inside where huge waves were crashing through the rooms. Terrible fear of getting caught under them…swimming over and riding the water down to an exit where all was dry and girls seemed to be looking for the rest of their party.

They were missing one or two…I’d go with them as though I belonged, elevator to elevator as they looked. One of the girls was Rachel Scott….Rachel was found dead my senior year of high school. Beautiful goth girl. I try to forget it happened in the country close to home.

She had her long, black hair and a red sweater…and also a twin in a black sweater with long, white/silvery hair. They were kind of yelling at each other for losing track of some teammates.

End sequence.

School event around Thanksgiving. I don’t really register that it’s taking place at my house… turkeys are being butchered live, and like…. tossed around like pizzas. Everyone’s standing around like it’s a tradition to view. Someone’s holding up their necks, disassembled, talking about them…someone’s rolling a huge turkey carcuss around in the backyard like a snowball… I see a girl I had a fall out with and am watching her sit at a table with her mom as they eat something and sip cider from styrofoam.

I look up and notice a giant eagle circling. And circling. Its beak open. It sees all these huge birds being tossed up and around…

“Please oh please mistake ****** for a turkey and pluck her head right from her neck,” I said out loud. Angie says, “Autumn, that’s not very nice.” I say something about kidding and she answers, “But it was pretty funny.”

Suddenly the idea turns worse than I thought and people are screaming. Running.

“Everyone in the house, everyone inside. There are eagles and warthogs outside,” I hear. So I begin running around screaming this, trying to warn people, but for some reason I just can’t YELL…there’s hardly any voice… and idiots are running out to tease these beasts…

Watching the horror from inside, I notice that my dog is out there with the crowd, surrounded by what now have the shape of wolves (who have more interest in the dancing people). I step on the back porch and start screaming her name…frustration from lack of volume,…she hears me, though, and she comes running up… I close her inside with me.

I wake up.

Last night,…eh. Night before last. I cleaned the basement yesterday, went to take a nap and ended up sleeping from 4 P.M to now. Oops. So yeah. Night before last.

The front room door blows open but no one is there. I say, “Dad. Who’s trying to come into our house?” in such a way that means, “Get up, I think something’s scary.” He does…no one…closes the door. Kinda shrugs.

Then the front door opens.

Someone steps inside.

I look down at my foot and there’s a black, stiff kitten sitting there. Eyes of yellow light. It looks fucked up. I link my arm to my dad’s, and we step over it, up the stairs to greet this dark figure. Very strange – normally I run in dreams.

I run like a bitch. And I ALWAYS…get away.

But we’re getting closer to it…fear is slowing trying to psych into anger…and then I wake up.

Amazon Dream

Last night in my dream I was looking at a website designed like Amazon that said:

Kitchen appliances you own and have used that express the way you feel. (0)

?! Like it wanted some kind of introspective review on the Cutco knives.

I don’t want to sit down. I’ll come back later.

Squandered thoughts for the masses.

Soldier Justin phoned because he had some kind of essay on leadership due and was freaking out. He has typed it up on a different program than whoever wants it, is using. One scrambled document and an hour of “word pad – txt – attachments for beginners” later, I think all is well.

“Um, okay,” I rasped, into the cordless my dad had walked in and propped against my ear.
“Highlight the title. Then there’s a button that centers it-”
“Woah woah woah you’re way ahead of me.”
“Just look for the little text alignment buttons-”
“FUCKING A, I SAID WOAH! You’re talking to a blonde here…oh, shit! Oh, no!”
“What. You know, Mandi knows all this stuff at 8 am, too.”
“I just exited out of it! Fuck this piece of shit. I think the library’s open, now. You’re coming with me – hang on, I have to put you in my pocket.”
*muffled sounds of marching and opening doors*…

Mom took my computer to a tech at her school after I ran some kind of Norton systems check that had told me, “We found some clusters. They probably aren’t important. Let’s delete em, eh? Just click.” I had, and then the IE program refused to open, along with all instant messengers. Connected to the internet just fine, but something was wrong from the connection to the programs. So Mom just rips its cords off and hauls it away. :(

Why did it have to go and call them clusters? Why wasn’t it more honest. “INFORMATION DATA, here! THINK ABOUT IT.”

Dad: Can you make a copy of this?
Autumn May: I can’t. Mom took my computer to some kid at work who partied too hard over the weekend to look at it.
Mom: He’s not a kid, he’s 27! And cute! I’d introduce you, but he drinks too much.
Autumn May: Please. This derilect needs to give me back my machine.
Mom: I’ll tell Tracy you said that.
Autumn May: Tell him I said I’m pretty sure that sounds like a chick’s name. (and so on, because it’s easier being difficult than admitting I fucked up my computer)

End trans, with requested dream for Michael to translate. I have 3 miles to jog on a formula of the last legal low-cal stacker formula: Green tea extract, caffeine, and aspirin.

Cordially yours yours, yours, and yours,
Autumn “Pulls All Her Own Stunts” May
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