Friday, March 27, 2015

Grovel then novel

Also, I have signed up for the new boredom. Have you? Not like Tokyo boredom. This is the hardcore, the last rites of stupification. Brain in the deep freeze (deep fried, well you get the idea). Like a single block of solid matter, no moving parts. Aspirin won’t help you. Guns can not protect you. Go ahead, stand against the back wall, this is the firing squad you’ve always dreamed of. Sat in that bar before, sun outside still shining. Bad news for ice cubes and their ilk. Thirsty nights no longer. I’m sad just to hear those words. Blankets on the bed cover up the seriousness of the situation. Short walks and loud sounds, let’s call it even or call it off. A pain like no other. “I’m not giving up” said the ice cube in the sauce pan. “I’m never giving up . . . .

I'm working on this novel that is bent and broken, suffers from no story or characters or words. Hell, I can't even spell very well.

Above a segment, below, the whole she-bang as she stands . . . . .

Ok, said the day

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