What

Deep … Cleansing… Breaths…

… STUPIDMOTHERFUCKINGSONOFABITCH!

Really should have taken her a little more seriously. Didn’t. And she made me quit. Ohhh, that voice is a forceful one let me tell you… But now I have all of this free time for … stuff. I mean bright side, NaNoWriMo is next month. Maybe I’ll finish the Doc’s Tale’s by then. Maybe. Hopefully. Fingers crossed that the drunkard in my skull can coax the drunkard in the pages to keep talking. If not, maybe they can share a drink and discuss the existential crises that is existing. Sounds like a conversation based in the wild throws of weed, but -tsk tsk- it’s the bottle what’s bringin’ about these thoughts and discussions between myself and my imaginary friends.

Brilliant side to insanity, you always have some form of material to coincide with your prenatal psychosis. Downside is the self-doubt and crippling thoughts of inadequacy. But once you get through that, you’re pretty much a god. Then, when the thoughts creep back in and you fold to them, eventually scouring Indeed to find the “right job” that you can hack while you entertain your imaginary beasties, the rocks start plunging their old school fists into your guts and you close the computer like, “eh… fuck it” because you remember that crazed lunatic in your skull, tapping her bat against the walls and giving you the stink eye – considering she only has the one eye to give it to you with. Don’t ask about the other one, she’ll show you how she¬† got it t do its disappearing act. In fact – she’s giving me the glare now, while the new on in the Zoot Suit plays some daunting tune on the random piano in my skull, puffing on a stogie and what she calls a “bread knife” sitting on the top of the baby grand next to her brass knuckles…

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Thank You Mr. Hardy – Legend, Great Flick. Image also from Somewhere on Tumblr

Shit, I’m about to get my ass kicked…

P.S: Prose writing. Ain’t it great? Grammatical Rules of Grammarness be damned! Well. I mean… Like… To an extent.