Bullshit

Some days are harder than others; the drudgery of type-font against retina display screens. The blinking cursor, unforgiving like the tapping foot of an impatient teen.

You pivot between fiction and fact, noun and verb, too much and too little. Characters hang about like paper dolls, seemingly of substance until proven flat.

Hours pass. You pick at words like a scavenger in a boneyard. Half eaten ideas exposed to a beating sun; spotlighting the struggling artist.

A viscous fog creeps down from the mountain of expectations, sinister in its slow decline. Within it’s folds, a raspy voice, ‘this is bullshit.’

Shift. Highlight. Control. X

Such is the lobotomy of inspiration.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s