Been writing a shitload of prose lately- here's some, if you can stand it-
(here's my explanation for my current bout of writer's block)
Horny old men fight and scratch and push their way between my brain tissue, settle there, and start to ******** with my mental processes.
Some of them have been dead for centuries- skinny old junkies searching for veins in invisible limbs- looking for some opening to shovel poison down and ******** with the senses. Searching for the cerebral libido down which to shovel the poison. Watch it swell. Turn green. Try to reject what they’re insistent I need.
Maybe I do need it. Some nasty, verboten chemical to pump through my system and make the words I catch on paper look prettier. Or maybe it’s those goddamn literary junkies forcing me to think I need it.
Yeah! Catch the words! Lure them between the pages of a book- a nice, big, thick heavy book, you understand- and then snap it shut as hard as possible. Keep it in the dark for a few months with other heavy stuff on top of it. Open it later in life and see the words- nicely scripted, perfectly preserved, with all the juices squeezed out to make it a dry imprint of what it used to be.
Angry old writers in my head dance war dances and demand results for their labour. Erotica. Prose. Gonzo. My turn for labour. My turn to show ‘em I can think. But how is that possible when they keep ******** with the writing process? They’re getting in the way between me and my keyboard- ghosts flitting in front of my face, freezing my hands and auto-correcting my pressed paragraphs. Wino breath down my neck, junkie hands shaking over mine.
Or maybe it’s just my schizophrenia. Maybe it’s the giant syringe stuck in my cerebral clitoris that’s ******** me up. Maybe my writer’s block are the pink elephants flying in front of my mind’s eye.
Or maybe it’s thick 19th century lead glasses clinking in front of my vision, 1970’s plungers pulling. God, I don’t know.
I wish they’d stop leaving rings on my braincouch.
(And here's a question I like asking people when I pretend I'm deep)
If there's no religion in schools, why do athiests write God with a capital G?
 Mooncat_LI · Wed Oct 11, 2006 @ 03:04am · 0 Comments |
