Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Someone Give Me Something to Write About

I sit here, drinking tasteless coffee, the humid night air still lingering in my ancient house. A cat comes down the stairs, a beast of bones, and bellows, its complaints unintelligible and impossible to comprehend. "What do you want, goddamnit?" I ask, staring at my collection of dinosaur toys. A carnotaurus stares back, its horned head made of plastic. My fingers feel like plastic. They move on the keyboard and words pop up on screen. Just the act of typing is satisfying, even if what I'm typing is just as incomprehensible as the old cat's screams. "We're all characters," I say, almost spitting out my coffee. Some things you should pay more for. I've always tried to pay the lesser amount.

I could write about my hurt back. Maybe the Goon has more to say about politics, which are his specialty. There's poetry in the heart of Mitch R. Singer, though you have to look deep to find it. The Hillsdale Paranormal Society is always making the most of dire situations. But I don't know. None of those characters sound interesting at the moment. Nothing does. That's the thing about writer's block. Your capacity to create doesn't leave you. The desire does.

Fresh coffee hits my cup. Nothing could be worst than the first cup. Who likes cold coffee? It's like drinking cold mud. The water in my pipes tastes like blood. Here I am, listing various opinions. Isn't that all a writer does? You put shit down on paper. It requires an eighth-grade proficiency with grammar and a drinking problem. That's what I said once, in a novel that sits on my shelf, waiting to be edited. Apophenia is the human tendency to see patterns in random information. That's all a writer is, a dispenser of random information.

This coffee is much better. It has taste. Gevalia is the good stuff. The click-clack of animal claws greets me, and my dog's ugly head leers upward. It wants food. How would you like to be fed little bits of processed grain and animal waste? I wonder if a human could live off of dog food. It seems likely. Dogs evolved to eat our garbage, after all. You can live off of eating garbage.

It's going to be better, I honestly believe. There is no shortage of information to be dispersed in this head. Some of it you might find humorous, or horrible. Pointless Venture is the most successful creative endeavour I've undertaken. We just hit a milestone of 669 views for August. Sure, most of those were probably spam-bots, but at least I've given them some material. Watch out for the Goon. His apple-picking days are numbered.

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