I want to talk to you. I don't always want to talk to someone, but tonight I do. You. You big group of someones. This is as good a time as any to come clean, there is a sadness in my heart right now and the thought of someone reading what I write lifts me.
And I've got nothing...
Four days later -
Was looking through some stuff I wrote once.. this was a response I gave to a question that was submitted to me on LJ:
"I started writing after I sat down one day and tried to figure out which profession would garner me the most attention from promiscuous women. World famous guitar god just wasn't as potent a profession as science fiction writer. Sure those guys get laid, but there are few things that rev up a woman's engine like a goddamned wordsmith. Like, a few days after I started writing I walked outside and a bus full of Atlanta strippers had pulled up in my yard screaming about slinging vag at me like I was on a beach as Superstorm Pussy devestated my coastline. That's why I do it. For ass, ass, ass.. booty booty buttcheeks, shake for me girl, I wanna be your backdoor man."
The response was a brief message about an enormous amount of respect having been lost. A part of me felt awful for writing that response and another part of me was disheartened for not having made my response much more awful.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment