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Squig
fork your eyes
I'm Squig
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about me
I'm just here, spinning around, touching things and ripping paper into tiny pieces. I don't depend on people to make me happy. If happiness is measured in seconds [and I'm for certain that it is] than I'd rather be happy about finding a blue bead in a jar that is supposed to contain nothing but white beads, or stumbling into a celestial hole; I'd rather hold a book than a person.
I want to make you feel like you're a bird. I want to take you dumpster diving. We can dive the seven dumpsters and sift through strangers' junk. I bet we'll find a computer chair missing at least one of its wheels and an old radio that works if you twist the knobs just so. I don't ever want to make you feel like you're inadequate. No one should feel like that. I'm not here to judge, although I have before. I'm not here to tell you not to judge, because I can't force you to do anything, unless I'm holding you at gun point, and maybe not even then. Don't worry; I wouldn't blow your brains out. I'm assuming that you have some brains to blow out. I don't. You'll figure that out for yourself soon enough though.I don't have any special talents. I can't play an instrument anymore, I can barely draw stick figures or toast bread. I'm actually less than average. You could ask any one of my friends why they associate themselves with me and they'd tell you, "I...don't know."
Wait. I can make ice.I'm expendable. And I have a secret series of words that you can say to get me to do anything for you; make you a sandwich, give you my roller blades, whatever. I'll let you blow your nose on my sleeve when you're finished crying, even if you won't let me do the same. But I'd tell you, "I let you blow your nose on my sleeve, so you should let me wipe my nose on yours." It's like the whole "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours first" thing, except that I don't mind who goes first as long as we both go. I can open the door for myself. Don't open it for me; but don't slam it in my face either. Will you let me leave a handprint on your car windshield?
I get excited about little things like going to the grocery store and Walmart, the library, finding feathers outside, and receiving packages from UPS. If anything though, I'm a crack in the ceiling. I'm a pot filled to the brim with vinegar and oil and I'm a blank wall waiting to be painted on. Paint me orange, or red, or anything you want, but remember, you have to watch me dry before you smear your fingerprints all over me and move on to the next blank wall, not even taking a second to admire all of those smiley faces you drew on me. Like I said, there's nothing to see here. Leave your mark and go away.
Music
Bright eyes
IMA robot
The postal service
Mindless self indulgence
Interests