If you’re wondering how I’m getting on with my daily writing challenge, my dearies, this is what it looks like. Those chicken soup gems I poop out are few and far between. Usually they’re just a snarl of thoughts snarling from the page gnarling to be seen. So this is to document to you, that I am indeed living up to what I have promised, though I shan’t publish the rest, unless my muse kick me in the nuts again.
“If you want to write”, wrote Brenda Ueland, “then write”. Or I think she did. Her book was seminal – I highly recommend it for any creative soul. She goes far deeper into the process of creativity than that tautological conclusion. I have thoroughly embraced this school – creative through discipline. So, on days and weeks and months when inspiration eludes, I write about my day – like a daily existential vlog, but in script form. (This is for posterity’s sake, in case this blog is excavated during a time where the notion of diaries had gone obsolete.)
Monday. I remain pant-less. My one good pair of trousers had a gashing hole on the buttock side. It’s very refreshing to expose one’s mush to the four winds. Now I finally understand why people wear those thong length shorts – ventilation. But my place of work frowns on hair butt cheeks and attires with personality, so a shopping trip to mannequin land was warranted.
Mannequins, fixed to their pedestals like the Jesus on the Cross, Buddha in his shrine, and Apollo on his statue, beneath them mannequin people scurried about their mannequin lives, powdering their faces to sand off blemish, waxing their crannies to smooth, starving themselves to be rid of that extra pound of flesh, all so they could resemble their idols and dress as their idols do. And these idols, unmoving and unspeaking and bereft of the pleasure of the world, do they have rage in their hearts?
I rode home with a train-ful of mannequins. Then I was tested.
There a very few things in life I prove unable to resist. Meowing, purring kittens. Green eyes. Any flavour of ice-cream but particularly chocolate, coffee, and green tea. Medium-rare steak fresh of the grill seasoned with salt and pepper. Heavy, smothering smoldering rain. Scent of petrichor. The sight of blue skies. Everything about PDN.
Today I was tempted by luscious though of ice-cream. I resisted and purchased fruit instead. Then to reward myself for overcoming gluttony, I had ice-cream anyway.
We are the hollow men. We are the stuffed men.
#00117F 