A War of Words

So here’s the problem, right?

 

What exactly are you supposed to do when you’re “on the clock”, need to write something down, and your brain sputters like the last gasp of a morning pee? I don’t know what good asking the question in a one-way interaction is going to do for the problem, but I guess spraying my brain diarrhea onto the wall through my keyboard might help me figure it out. There can’t be some sort of pill or one-size-fits-all solution to the problem, because obviously they would keep that shit locked up on a top shelf inside a vault at Walgreens. What I’m hoping, of course, is that the very act of talking about that communication desperation, working around the problem like eating just the skin off of a piece of fried chicken and avoiding the real meat, will somehow light a fire under my ass and push me in the right direction to congeal some of my stupider thoughts into a wall of text. Presumably to entertain or inform, although I reserve the right to make no sense whatsoever, again presumably with my face covered in someone else’s blood.

 

What I’m doing here is throwing everything I can muster against the wall in an attempt to push through the block. The block that laughs at me when I try to reach out to the world with my words. The demon that is content while I scream my stupid bullshit in front of the world, only to find I have no voice when I’m alone. Truth is, I have the same soul no matter where or what I’m doing. There’s no reason to believe otherwise. The power to say the stupidest shit imaginable has always, and will always be at my core. I just need to find a way to make it come out on demand, like Spider-man? Didn’t he do that in one of the movies, where he got all depressed and couldn’t fire jizz out of his arms? I think that was in one of them. I think that was a thing. Then he got happy and sprayed the town white. Anyway, I’m getting off-topic. What I really need to do is adjust my mental approach and attack. Chip away at whatever is stopping me from getting from Point A to Dumb B. That’s part of the point behind my committing to posting something every day for thirty days: to push past my comfort zone, draw weird blood from a stone. True, I worked around that a couple of times by posting/adjusting/editing older things I had saved from The Great WordPress Fire of 2017™, but now that I’m out of survival knives, back against a wall, I’m coming at it with everything I’ve got. 

 

 

I want shit to get weird. I wanna get interesting. I wanna get freaky with you. And if I have to stick a finger in the butt of my mind, well, I guess that’s where we’re going. Now leave this page, not with a new found confidence and respect for your own abilities, but with the image of spider-man firing jizz out of his arms.

 

Holy shit, I actually wrote something.