An unsubtle revision
Earlier today I received my umpteenth gripe that I haven’t posted anything new to bitch about. So I sat down and took a look at everything going on around me and picked out something I thought I could successfully rant on about, with several colorful four letter words here and there just to make me happy with myself. Go figure, the second I tried to put it down on a document it vanished. What the fuck is that about? Has my inability to translate the images in my head to document or paper become so strong that I can’t even successfully (if not artfully) bitch about something that gets under my skin? I wonder what the next evolutionary step this incredible clusterfuck I’d like to call my brain is going to take next. Am I no longer going to be able to write a memo? The next time I try to write down the date on something am I going to be able to remember what day it is? It’s un-fucking believable. So for the time being I’ve decided to say: Death to the written word. Text, I abjure you. You are no longer part of my world. From now on I’ll communicate in dingbats or pictures. If someone wants to hear something creative from me, they can spark it and hear it on the spot. I’ll talk to myself when I have something I need to get out of my head, or put on puppet shows. I deny you and seek you no longer you incredibly elusive series of words. Eventually, I think maybe my head will explode. If I don’t write things down to expel them from a conscious stream of thought to something conversational, there’s a wonder if they will pile up. Eventually the pile will become bigger than my head and then well… Boom. If there’s a big bang anywhere in my near future, I’m sure you’ll be able to hear about it on the 9 o’clock news. Under the heading “Man’s head mysteriously explodes while contemplating Tampa traffic” or some such nonsense. So for now the written rants cease, until my next literary evolution or someone gives me something really interesting to bitch about.
It's been fun.
It's been fun.