Friday, 26 November 2010

We Have No Vacant Seas.

I’m sitting right here, just beyond your screen. I can’t think to type or write or even start a story. I can't for Joe’s multiplicity of distractions, tale after tale, written on postit notes all around the flat (he can produce a story for every one that I can’t create), then the phone rings- Spliff? Nah Aaron, I got bigger fish to try like the Cod Wars and Joe’s dissertation. In fact, fuck it, yeah head on over. 15 minutes? Don’t bullshit me, your worse than Lee, won’t see you for a week will we… Come on think. Grab something creative out of this deep fucking chasm you call a mind. Anything, a word, even a letter will do. An anecdote; I must have one of them amongst these two and twenty years of mindspit. Man, now all I can think of is Liz and her anecdotal stories about sick. Argh! When will this ringing-speak device ever cease to exist? Kerynia. Yes. Mmm Hmm. Well that’s all good and well but I gotta make my masterpiece. I’ll be finished just in time to see the state you choose to choose tonight. Who shall be the hero? Davlar, Danni, Desmond, Dearie, Declusdeclusini. Fuck off out of my head Falmouth before I bitchslap your bubble. I used to be able to see the water, man. But now its just Watermans, every Friday night, listening to some sort of monkey/music hybrid: Hong Kong Ping Pong - It’s gotta be the Rudest Durty Disco Box I’ve ever seen. Am I insane? Or am I actually discussing Woolf with Wolf alongside her huskie, Louie that looks just like a... Oh Sophie, my little trophy, is this reality, or just a fallacy-euphoria? Extreme overuse but never an overdose, FLMT: It’s down with the kids and it doesn’t smell like cats piss. In a town that sleeps, and creeps by when your not there, it's that highstreet that will walk past my window forever. And the people’s heads and faces from different places stand with their eyes wide shut. Looking at nothing. Pretending that they were the ones who found that rare pebble Creativity, on the beach at Gylly. Yeah Gylly, you know, Gylly. Charlotte Gylly, Gylly Gylly. We have schemes man, Grand Schemes. It’s not even for poontang, this is just for the Goon Tang. Maybe Cheddar will be the one to save us all? Form, character, creation, imagination and exaggeration. Inspiration, wherever it lies, I hope that I’ll soon find it so I can stop boring you with all of this pretentious bull shittt…    

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