My Diseased Heart

I tooka tooka trilling tillers of tuliping tundra cats.

I seem to really like writing alliterations when I cannot get my mind to think of a story. I wonder if there is anything psychologically significant about that. My “drinking something sweet” instead of writing problem fascinates me. I wish I knew more about what it says about the way my mind works. I wonder if it means something cool, like I was able to perform a difficult psychological manipulation unconsciously or if it means something bad like I have no willpower and am subject to creating all kinds of behaviors that hold me back from my greatest potential.

I’m really interested in writing my two new Wolf stories, but I am worried about it for two reasons- one is that they are long novel length story ideas again and I don’t believe I have the talent to create a project that long and make it interesting. And secondly I worry that the subject matter is too risqué for the average reader.

Elephant eels eat English muffins for Friday fiesta. Fricking frick mother fucker fools of fresh foods. Look into the eyes of a later day lover and see the unpleasant fate of your hungry soul. Folly and frivolity find themselves in the company of fellow foundries.

Mellow man, just keep chill. Don’t go wasting your mind on obsessive platitudes. Don’t make everyone happy, just make her happy.

Don’t mess with kids dude, or they will mess with your mind.

My wallet is the empty shell of a heart beating the last beats of a diseased existence.

Muy mangos. Mango pango pudding toots. Liver and beets with artichoke kale.

Is it ten minutes yet? I’m writing and writing and my internal editor is screaming inside my head that these little exercises will never work because I have nothing worth writing.

Published in: on April 8, 2011 at 11:37 am  Comments (1)  

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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. Sometimes writing about your writing helps you figure out where your kinks are, I think it’s a good place to start.

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