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  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

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        Monday, January 08, 2007

    Forty Bucks Worth...

    Someone in email today mentioned my alleged prolificicity again, as if I write a lot here, or something.

    Well, maybe, a little, but what's your excuse? Y'all (well, mosta yuh) write, some of you write well, some very well, and a few better than me, so...well?

    I dunno, let's just file this one under 'mental masturbation' and move on.

    When we've finished.

    I was going to (trying to) write a post on the breaking story from Somalia where Spooky blew some bunch of terrorist fucks (or civilians, who cares, really) into bloody steaming chunks. My point was going to be that CBS 'News' had a line in their article saying they 'hadn't been identified yet', and my counterpoint was gonna be the above 'chunks' statement.
    But my system upchucked so bad at that CBS site that I had to restart three times, and now I am typing this while AVG, Spybot S&D, and Ad-Aware run simultaneously.


    So, do I earn my occasional forty bucks? I don't 'try' to do anything here, I just do. I take you along with me, we sweep back the curtain, and I am just as surprised at you by the set dressing when we step through. Most of the time.

    I don't rehearse. I don't even read the script. Or have a script.

    This is my forebrain. You look through my eyes. Sometimes we take a shivery trip to my brain-stem. Sometimes we slip on waders, and muck about in the vast, Stygian swamps of my memory. Whups! Over here, corpses float in the fell light from the peat bog, eyes white, dead, open, and still, looking at me...into me.

    Sometimes dark things skitter and scuttle and screech across the empty blackboard of my brain, leaving glowing white trails, sometimes the laughter bubbles like a champagne fountain with friends, watching the kids from the safety of the deck, as said children happily risk life and limb in the bouncy palace.

    But the clown always waits, there, just under the trees, twisting convoluted pink balloon penises...

    Oh, don't worry, because I'm not. I just like to ponder. And today...well, lately, I just feel like I'm not giving the paying customers their money's worth. And this is not a bleg. Though feel free...

    No, I just feel distracted, and yet, of all the things I write, here and there, here is my favorite, and my guide for how to behave there. If you can call this 'behaving'.

    If I ever get an editor...gosh, they'd have to be so tolerant. Nothing from nothing leaves nothing, and that is about as much input as I am prepared to accept, unless they are such a smart, manipulative motherfucker they can convince me. And they throw lots of money, otherwise...

    I'm quite happy right here, thank you. But oh...

    ...the places we could go...