Or, for that matter, the telephone and/or the internet.
At the moment, I’m watching ‘Space Ghost Coast to Coast’ in misery and thinking — no, completely aware of the fact that — I ought to be writing more. I ought to be living up to my potential and creating a space where my first entry is full to pissing capacity with content that no one can ignore; content that would change the life of the reader forever. However, I’m bit drunk, a bitty bit bitter and am also disillusioned by the literary community — editorial or not. I mean, check out my liberal use of dashes. Such bullshit tactics are not the groundwork for coreographing the syntax ballet of tomorrow.
Listen, I’ll get there. But events of the past few days have been so unceremoniously interruptive that I can barely process their intent. I know life is a river. But must the fish stink my shit up so much?