Hey. How are y'all?
So I'm taking this boat out again, to see if she's sea worthy, or if she'll sink me someplace cold and dark. Considering the people in my life, I seriously doubt that would ever happen. Again.
I recently heard something that made me realize what the problem is. "I got 99 problems and writer's block ain't one". It was about the terror of the blank page.
I have too much to say. If writing were photography I would be the only man with a camera when the aliens landed. Pick a direction... The ships hovering in mid air, the countless reaction shots, that one moron who shoots Klaatu and ruins humanity's only chance to join the galactic society.
Really, the only way I could lose is to never take the shot.
I want to take that shot.
Fuck me running (and I would like to see the pair of sexual athletes that could pull THAT one off, wouldn't you?) but I NEED to take it.
This is the first non-G plus post in... Well, I think it's years now. And I sit here at brigideire's place, about to crash, I have to wonder...
And the answer come rising up from a deeper, more primal place, that source of those moments when my "r"s are almost non existent, a strange and magical land called "Queens"; Why the fuck not?
What answer would you give?