Next Day.
Wednesday.
Ma gawd, yesterday is today, which means one day has died and I missed the
birth of this day which was yesterday.
Which is today, one day.
Away, from the ever encroaching deadline.
More like a crotch line, camel toes, blue spandex.
What the fuck am I suppose to write?
Hell if I know.
Supposed to let it all go.
Sixty minutes, uncontrolled creative fury.
Don’t try to control, just rooooollll with it.
Don’t try to make it fit, sit with it.
The discomfort of a vacuum where creativity should be.
Spelling mistakes are takes of real life.
We all fuck up, trip on, hang ups, of false perfection.
A human distraction from nature.
Don’t stop, keep going, the furnace is blowing out
bubbles of ideas
Gawd what to write about.
How about how much I suck?
How my addiction to friction.
Would be nice to make a buck,
once in awhile.
Ah but that would be a pity party,
hearty on your back step.
Weeping an a crying and this and that.
The cat in the hat, ignores me, I try to be as perfect as on can be.
False hope around the neck with rope.
Dangling from candy cane rafters.
In a ginger bread house, douse me with gin.
Pour it into a tin can, ban pity parties.
Unless they come with a box smarties.
Wait.
I’m still in a sleep state.
Did I just piss the bed?
Maybe I’ll just lie here instead.
What sleep did I take, to break such a trudge through honesty.
Honestly this is like pulling teeth.
No fun today.
A dry run indeed.
I’ll take a break, try not to fake this idea.
Steel, it take to write like this.
Some days I hit today is a miss.
Can stop to read what I’v written.
I might get bitten by the bug, that is self righteous and smug.
Wanting to prove how clever we are,
Dreaming of false stars, up in the sky so high.
I know I can fly.
Waffles.
I was thinking about waffles before I went back to bed.
Thick in the head, to be thick as a brick.
Jethro Tull in the back ground of sound.
Pressure. pressure, pressure, press her. pressures, press her, pleasure, pleasure,pressure, doesn’t it count.
mount if the same word is heard.
Over and over again, like a really good split off a bong?
Pressure,pleasure, pleause, press her, pressure, pleasure, prostate, pressure, pries, pressure, presser, presser, prier, prepress. pressure., press her, into a corner and force,
Boisterous attitude, to delude you, into a coma.
Obama doesn’t like conan, but
that slut of a smurffet, was the buffet and every Sunday,
brunch, then lunch.
Blue pussy on the menu.
ewww!
necrophilia, .............................
A crap fell of the track, lost my train of though.
Cause I bought some, chocolate.
In a state of bliss avoidance, wasted time is abundant.
When things get difficult join the cult
of procrastinator, watch the Terminator.
Any thing, that will bring, distraction from detection.
Right waffles, we where talking about waffle.
My character is in bed, with a cold towel around her head,
curious if she pissed the bed.
Pressure and waffles, with blue hairy cherries.
Bury.
These pages, full of shit.
Hit the bullshit meter, eater of dignity, digitally masturbate, take
me for a fool.
I went to school for art.
Cart me off to the funny farm
What has this rant,
that can’t have
any thing to do with
the bitch into the story.
Eating waffles in bed with a pink dildo on her head.
Watching crack it be in the walls, creep and peep,
to her ceil of a dime.
Lime green plaster, fester, like puss, in a fuss.
Over mushroom, tasting like ginger.
Figure four to the doors of perception.
or intro inspection.
Deep down, in the group of seven, Dali’s wet dream.
Cream skinned virgins rolling in yellow egg yokes, sipping on cans of coke.
Or smoke a crack pipe, skipping on the hype, energy drink.
Are a finks to make people drool pretending it cool.
Thirty minutes to go, then I’ll blow out of here.
Like a steer in a stampede, heed my warning.
Me thinks this project, will be painful as well as sinfully beautiful, colors, letter and pages full of shit.
Hit and miss, this bliss.
I’m going to whine about why the fuck I had to rhyme,
every fucking line!!
I have no one to blame if this will slowly drive me insane.
Which I think it will, drill me with a sergeant, ardent of war.
Wild bores into my intestinal skin,
thin layers over my bones, blown away by your love.
The blood red dove, of light in my life.
Strife with addiction to friction, between you and me and a gawdless society, known as tv.
Bleed me from the neck, peck at me, while taking speed, balls.
Down halls of marble and stone, flown in from Italy, Paris, embarrassed to admit,
I bite the bullet, and sulked and bulked the bag of maggots, eating raw cookie does in the amazon forest known only on the internet, hair net.
I bet the casino, will blow the social security to hell, toll the bell, to addictions and frictions, in the big bang theory.
We are all masters of destruction in time,
Sliming and rhyming rubbing your skin against my, wall of excuse, useless.
My heart in your hand,
had once, beat the rhythm of you but bought me.
Into some kind of false security of casino and drug addicted clown.
Where silks suits make me want to eat red meat, pied and squared.
Bared my ass to you all, see the sixty six size of my balls, to the walls.
Fuck you, or fucking what does it matter the end result is always the same.
It’s either you or me to blame,
in the end, we all bend backwards in time, to find what went wrong.
Quantity not quality
Today was a tough day.
ReplyDeleteYesterday the words just flowed, today was painful.
At some points it started to flow, then dried up.
There is one thing I am learning in this project, don't delete.
Which is something I learned in art school, never erase.
I never thought to use this philosophy in writing.
There have been many time I have meant to write one word and spelt something else.
The outline for this project I have laid out for myself, is, once I have written it, I can't go back and edit it.
So it forces me to work with what I have, interestingly the takes me off into a direction with no direction.
A happy mistake some times, a total tank another.
This is becoming an practice in non perfectionism.
Lordy it's not easy.
My ego keeps jumping wanting to be a rock star.
It kicks and screams when I reign it back in.
See what happens tomorrow, I have a 3 hr break between shifts.
I'll be writing!