is filled with
an uneasy silence.
is filled with
an uneasy silence.
I’m working on rewriting an old novel right now and it’s just like trying to patch up a desperately wounded creature that is constantly trying to crawl away.
I gutted the chapter
because it was downright hideous.
What the Hell was I thinking?
That I could turn this macabre piece of bird shit
into something that was a joy to read?
I felt insane. Defeated.
I might as well jerk off and go to bed
but I was a fighter
because God never stopped pissing on my soul
so I went through it all again
slashing, hacking, mutilating
sometimes screaming as I did so
but I cleaned it out good
and then filled in the blanks
with something that made sense
thinking the whole time:
why was I a writer?
Why the fuck was I a Goddamn writer?
I would never be anybody. I was shit.
What a momentous waste of time!
I pounded at the keyboard
drank some wine
next thing I knew it was four in the morning.
“Jesus wept!” I cried.
I had to go to bed
so that I could wake up early before work
and work on this chapter again
because I was a lunatic in obvious need of rehabilitation.
Writing was a hard line to sell
even to yourself
even for all you other writers out there.
Goddamn you all to Hell.
I need a drink.
I wish that I could
throw my life out the window
like a television set
that doesn’t work anymore.
Today is the kind of day that
madmen rave on about in those
sparse moments of lucidity
before retreating once again
into the back of their minds
way back into that dark dark
place that beckons like a
midnight candy van
driving them once again to
begin screaming nonsensical statements
about government experiments
and Christ in a taco.
It is of the days that you wonder if you
could clear the front yard with your laptop
and would consider it quite possible
were you to spin around and
give it a good swing outward
setting it free
free to fly
like a bird from a prison
or a whispered wish from a child’s lips
though the window might slow it down
but you really don’t think so.
Today is like some hideous creature
that has crawled onto your back
and dug in
breathing it’s horrible scent into your face
and laughing while doing so.
It is the office people that you would
much rather not talk to but seem to always
have a keen sense of when you are going
to the bathroom and expertly plan to
intercept you in the hallway
in order waste long moments of your life
with boundless idiocy
especially when you have a project due
two hours ago.
Today is a rock for your window
it is the chattering salesman at the door
and the bullish bill collector on the phone
it is the alarm clock that will not shut off
even when unplugged
it is the hole in the boat
the tears on the orphan’s face
the hot boiling Hell that you feel
when nailed to a desk
like Christ on the cross
as the hours
laugh in your face.
Today is the kind of day
that has driven men mad
for thousands of years
and it has become fully apparent
that I am no exception.
No, I will not put down the match.
how was your day?
I tried to write today.
Mostly it was just screaming at my laptop
in foreign languages
tearing up pages and pages
crumpling them up and
throwing them at the television
crying, there was crying
banging on the table
with both fists
in between staring contests
with my cat.
In the end I managed to fix up
in less than an hour.
Never give up on your day.