I have a problem.
That is, there is a problem that is mine that i'm not entirely prepared to deal with.
What i mean to say is that if one were to say that a problem exists and it is mine, that one would be correct...
I think i'm a writer.
I've taken to talking to people about my idiotic ideas, my preposterous plot devices, my obsessive alliteration...shit.
I even think that i can write a bloody comic book! a collaborative art form that, when done well, is a mind altering experience and, when done poorly (as is the norm) is also a mind altering experience. A bad one.
And yet, i have no interest in writing the thing. I don't want to type it because, to me, typing is a sterile compression of my expression through the only medium i've any artistry in: heroically bad handwriting. Anyway.
I have writer's block, but in calling that i do myself too much credit. i have Poser's block. i am, at best, an aspiring blogger (because Buddha, Allah, Jesus, and L. Ron Hubbard all know I'm shit at keeping up with this)...Oh! i've been watching 30 Rock and man oh man is that show funny
Love that Tracy Morgan/Jordan.
Anyway, that's me. I'm trying to undertake my first serious writing project by co-authoring a Steam Punk western slash grecian style multi-plot epic with allusions to such contemporary issues as:
A. lower/middle class obesiety because of government subsidized food stuff
B. a damaged post-war generation raised by the PTSD generation of their parents
C. other topical stuff. leave me alone, i'm tired.
steam punks my genre...the story will work itself out.
write loving things to me.
i despise you all and would, were the power mine, compress you all into one middle aged accountant and make you my gimp. whom i would loving take care of. in my basement. jesus i need sleep...
