I’ve spent the last ten minutes trying to decide whether the title of this post should be “The Resurrection”, “Return of the King”, or “Why the Universe is a lot like the Internet”.
I like the second one, so I think that will be it. Now the post -
It’s been a while. I know. But I’ve been away — That’s my excuse.
The truth is, however, that I’ve been back longer than I had been away.
I’ve tried to write something since my return, but everything I write reads like shit. Maybe I’ve lost my — what’s that thing that writers have? — whatever it is, it’s now gone. Or maybe I never had it in the first place.
- That’s a thought.
Now I don’t intend to go all neurotic on you. I trust myself, more than anything. Yes, even that weird looking psychic chic at the corner shop. I don’t trust her one bit. After all, she was the one that told me to trust myself. Cow. I trust her too. It, I guess. I don’t know. Milk is good though. Except if you’re lactose intolerant, in which case – not so much. Bummer.
But then, there’s a fine line between trusting yourself and Vanity.
Pride and Prejudice.
Arrogance and Dance.
They’re all nouns. But in the vastness of the language ballroom, there’s that invisible thin line which “Dance” crosses at the end night, after the fat lady sings, to become a verb; Arrogance doesn’t dare. You might find him after, having beer with his friends saying things like “Nouns are the superior beings in language”, forgetting that he couldn’t have uttered that sentence without the help of, say, a verb. Which begs the question, doesn’t it make me sound arrogant, implying that I’m a king by naming this post “Return of the King”? But then, do I care?
Now that’s indifference, an undesirable quality for a leader — especially a king. Which makes this entire post, a lie. Being that I only aim for truth, I must refrain from using such false titles.
It’s sad how many lonely characters of the alphabet I’ve brought together these past few weeks that gave birth to words that unite to breathe life into brilliant little sentences, only to suffer gruesome deaths because they couldn’t work together as a paragraph, a blog post, or a goddamn chapter in the non-existent novel I’m not writing. Whatever happened to the dream of the kid who wanted to write just one true sentence? What kid? Exactly!
I figured the longer I wait, the worse my writing will become. So why not just come all out and suck write here, write now. Or something slightly less graphic. Point is, this is me at my absolute worst. Why do my dirty laundry in public, you ask? Because I don’t care. Yeah right — I guess that’s also the reason why I keep emphasizing how terrible this is; how I’m actually way better.
Maybe.
I guess only time will tell.
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