How to procrastinate writing.
1. Turn on the computer, go to the word file and remember there’s chocolate ice-cream in the fridge. Eat ice cream.
2. Wait...the chair doesn't feel comfortable. Add pillows to the back rest, headrest, armrest and seat and end up napping instead.
3. Wake up. Make some coffee to freshen up and suddenly crave for that hazelnut creamer you had at a friend’s house. YOU NEED THAT CREAMER NOW! While getting dressed to go to the store for that hazelnut creamer, you realize, all your favorite clothes are in the laundry, SO DO LAUNDRY FIRST!
4. Go buy that hazelnut creamer.
5. Finally make that coffee and enjoy every sip of it as slowly as you can while watching a 45 min tv show.
6. Wash the cup, ah oh, the kitchen counter is disgusting. Time for a thorough cleanup
7. Too tired to write, check social media. Meghan Markle's sun dress looks amazing! Spend an hour looking for cheaper knockoffs.
8. Finally go back to the word document, but end up reading old material on prose and reminisce memories of all the likes and comments you recieved for it.
9. Look for new challenges, likes, comments, followers, read other people's work.
10. Too tired, eyes hurt. Eat dinner, go to sleep.
#EvaT
Random Thoughts that Lift My Spirits
1. Getting those creative juices flowing
2. Cajun wings
3. Soy chai tea
4. Taking a trip to London
5. My next writing class
6. Black Cherry Gelato
7. Chateau Ste Michelle Harvest Select (Wine)
8. Haunted houses
9. Bar Bingo w/friends
10. Potato Skins
11. Scattegories
12. Psych (TV Series)
13. Getting my first book published
14. Moving to the Isle of Man
15. Wine & Cake Night with the gals
Sometimes I Think I’m a Sadist
*deep breath
“Okay okay, let’s see here, whose next, whose next....hmmmm...
- There was that bestial babysitter - check
- That PTSD assassin, husband guy - check
- His, uh... furry little wife - check
- There was that guy with the candlestick - check
- And his fairy - man did I screw over his fairy - major check
- Then that pink haired dwarf - check
- That Fear Factor couple - check
- That unfortunate con artist - check
- The cursed Cellist - check
- The red, wingless, parental figure - check
- That lightning thug with sister issues - check
- hmm... I don't think I messed with his sis yet... oh... well, I stole her emotions so I guess that counts - check?
Anyway where was I?
- Oh, the griffon rider queen - check
- Those Tengu twins lol - check
- The love-deprived ice king - check
- That gothic one in blue - check
- aha, The God - check
- The Goddess - check
- The dreadlocks assassin with those Jordan/Nike-like shoes he loves - check
- The demon mermaid - check
- That soulless kid - check
- That bullied, mystical tribe kid - check
- The ballerina warrior - check
- The violinist warrior - check
Who have I missed? Who else can I torture? *twirls feathered pen*
...I didn't get Old Lady Meng, but she's too cool...........................
Oh! The self-proclaimed Pun Master and her flying rainbow Narwhal named Disco! *starts writing fervently* Her alternate dimension version could suffer via guilt tripping.
Meh heh heh...”
Whining Bird of Prey
Your words were a fist
pounding into my soul
in fetid drops of corroded saliva.
I frantically exhaled you from my life,
scurrying behind my plastered walls
remembering the imposter, Nostalgia,
who left bruises on my hips, outlining
misery we embraced as we danced,
desolately without music, hovering
over abyss of festered lies.
You, a whining bird of prey, are a scar,
a knotted cloud disappearing into night.
Your phony love bled through my cuts
and bruises, leaving a legacy of hurt.
I wipe my dreams clean with scraps of
toilet paper, flushing you down my drain,
my despondent fingers tracing torn photos,
only thing you left were empty whiskey bottles
and broken memories of bullets in my heart.
We were born as dust
embodied with seeds
straightened as roots grew
multiplied as wind blew
alphabetized by sun and water
and time
running as we're still
waiting for the moonlight
to rest
that's made manifest.
Outnumbered by our own
mid twenties bankrupt babies
crying for job spots
as we were cradled for bigger things
like music for shadow dancers
or night tempered alley performance
but that won't pay
as words don't pay
as filthy governments won't pay
for beauty or harmony,
all is reserved for business
adding zeros to their numbers
as zeros naturally grow in stems
and olive leaves cure headache
that job seeking gives
that's made manifest.
Ecological thoughts
in economical structures
they forgot the numbers
in multiplying roots
hollow sentences
in forsaken harmony
found between black and white
between C and C sustained and A
and F and english breakfast tea
and black coffee and a sour treat
grown in trees
fallen into our hands
while we were thinking gravity
that's made manifest.
Insurance won't cover angst
or depression
or passion scars
or elite art pissing in dark alleys,
but a broken leg is a bigger issue
than sadness in a broken tissue
or everything that drowns
in seawaves and philosophy
inside an empty check
inside an empty bottle
draught by an empty young man
reading an empty manifest
about misconceived things
inside an empty structure
that's also made manifest.
Damaged.
Nothing comes close
to the skin she wears.
hatred knitted into
fibers of her bones.
stolen soul, and hidden,
deep, within evil dreams ...
no yesterday's lift her head.
blood washing down drains,
with secrets to keep,
and a gullet full of whiskey to 'mend' ...
How about,
Fuck you.
yes, hatred is real.
Hatred is felt.
Hatred is lived.
Hatred is betrayal.
Hatred kills and
sends unwanted souls to hell.
pain is only but a scar,
it scabs, it heals
and you move the fuck on.
Hatred is forever ...
It's what you hog tie
as you beat it
like a piñata,
laughing in the face of weakness,
squealing in fear,
giving a half assed attempt for forgiveness.
but the damage has already been done ...
