I remember making this sitting on my laptop while my oldest son did taekwando practice. I’m not sure what sparked the idea; perhaps it was me reflecting on the one PTA meeting I attended, which was I went to one, which was awkward and incredibly boring.
I can’t insert a bigger picture, so if you can’t see it well, I’m afraid you’ll have to zoom in.
I’ve been on a creative writing break for about two months now. I didn’t plan to take a break, but I’m glad I did. Doing so frees up my creativity so I can write more music…it turns out I have a hard time spending energy on both pursuits. I’m sure the pendulum will swing the other way in time.
I still engage in freewriting periodically, as is my wont. I usually go back through it to find a theme or a few lines for the beginning of a poem. I’m not sure if there’s anything here worth saving, but it struck me as interesting nonetheless:
Do you ever want to speak about the funeral? No. Of course not because you were all, “Uh, I can’t stand dead people!” and then you went somewhere and got drunk. Do you think it was easy for any of us? The rest of us had to sit there and take it, deal with our pain. We had to listen to that idiotic preacher spin a story about a man I never knew existed. It sure as hell wasn’t our father, which you know if you’d bothered to stick around.
Have you even been to the grave? God, you’re so disappointing. You have some pair of balls showing up here and expecting me to forgive you. If I start forgiving you for this, where does it stop? Am I supposed to forgive you for everything? Is that how forgiveness works? Is there some kind of statute of limitations on forgiveness, like a certain number of crows that are allowed to gather before they officially become a murder? Don’t look at me like that. Jesus. I’m making perfect sense, but you don’t understand anything because you’re so focused on yourself. If there’s a god in heaven, which is highly suspect, he doesn’t care anything about you. You were a tragic mistake, a slip of the pen, a scribble in the corner, an accidental union of chromosomes that somehow managed to make it out of the womb and draw breath. If I could go back in time, I’d kill every single one of your ancestors.
Well then. (ahem)
Lately, writing has taken a back-seat to other things in life. That’s the way of it. I found myself with some time today and thought, “All right, let’s get crackin’.” I wouldn’t call the writing session a complete failure because I came up with some lines that made me laugh.
- “You can’t reason with Nazis!” the boy screamed, and by God, he was right.
- He flourished, like a man named Steve flourishes in a crowd that’s dangerously low on people named Steve.
- She drowned in that crippled man’s pond. I mean, what the hell? Who drowns anymore?
- If you find a hat made of orangutan hair, keep it. Yeah, it’s illegal, but it’s worth it. You put that thing on when it’s just you and your lady, you better to hang on to something, because it will get crazy in the bedroom.
And that’s that. Maybe tomorrow will yield more substantial results. In the meantime, I’m thinking of taking one of the lines and turning into…well, something.