Saturday, July 12, 2008

On a writers block

No, Sir, no maam. Don't bother me today. Go get lost.

Yes, I say I am a writer, a writer I definitely am. I love to write and I hate to say this. Empty my pockets, you wont get no words.

I am falling in my own black hole, and my eyes are squeezed shut. You expect me to sing and dance? Then why the hell should I write?

I write when I feel like it. I write out of freedom. I write to shine my sword. I write to win the world.

My words are precious stones. They are more potent than semen. Why should I throw them in the gutter?

For right now, I am sitting in the gutter, there is nothing but darkness inside, and my eyes are squeezed shut.

Don't you dare tell me to write. Don't you dare hand me a pen. Don't even try to show me an empty page. Can't you smell the gutter that stinks? My hands are busy, holding my nose.

If you care, switch on the telly. If you care, light me a cigarette. If you love me, show me the stars. Take me for a long drive. Take me to Paris.

In Paris I know a shrink. Only he can cure my writer's block.

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