Tried to write something the other day, let it marinate, tried some more, shit canned it. I don’t shit can a lot of things, in text form I could easily store the library of congress on a hard drive and still have room for porno, not mine, but yours which is a more significant amount of space. It’s just a guess. This is almost 2016, most people leave their porn on the web where the good lord intended it.
You scoff or think I’m being blasphemous. I am a bit but not towards the religion so much as a certain type of cartoony practitioner, e.g. If the good lord had intended us to blank he would have given us blank. You know what’s blasphemous? A Christmas Carol. A stingy old man gets scared straight by four ghosts, one personal and three personifications of time. Where’s the manger and the Oriental wise men bringing traditional Jewish Christmas food? Sorry, oblique joke, but wherever you find Chinese restaurants open on Christmas you are sure to find some members of the twelve tribes of Judea. It’s because the preparation of Chinese food is as close to kosher as you can get; they don’t cook beef or chicken or tofu in the same dish that they cook pork and shellfish.
Anyhow, I don’t shit can much. I mean not as I go. Analog journals and such I used to keep ten years or so, however long it took for them to be too heavy to move, or take up too much space. That doesn’t happen with digital files. And yes, I’ve wiped a hard drive or two, I mean really wiped them clean, after doing a reformat I took a magnet to them and then a hammer and threw the pieces in different garbage cans. No, not because of your porno. Any prospective job or marriage I might have that would be derailed because of porno is one that was bound to derail anyhow.
See that? I began a paragraph and ended it with the word anyhow, not used well, but used with common usage. I’m post shadowing why I might have, in fact did, shit can something. The other problem with said flushing piece is that it wasn’t what I had been thinking about and though I can’t remember what I was thinking about I’m sure it was better than what I wrote. I liked the idea well enough, at least well enough to shove the one I was thinking aside, but it turns out I didn’t know enough about it to do more than stumble through with stiff prose.
Without forced humility or self-aggrandizing, my only real skill as a writer is voice. The piece floating in the shit can had none. Oh, and it’s possible I might have once done a lot of drugs, which isn’t a skill and yet it always get at least a chapter is biographies, well, thorough biographies.
Also I found myself writing for prosebox. I honestly can’t say why I’ve slowed down since hitting prosebox, but I have, and I find myself thinking “When was the last time I wrote an entry?” Today the answer is right the fuck now.
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