A Chip Off The Writers Block.

Something absolutely terrible has happened. On any given day there is a whirlwind of thought that tears through the small American town of my mind, lifting stilted wooden houses of ideas and dropping them in an Oz of mish-mashed topics and genres. Intrigue Munchkins lead me down the Yellow Brick Road to a fragile kingdom of fascination. Not hallucinations you understand, but ham fisted metaphors that keep me from slamming my face against the monitor, simply to stay awake. I like to take these thoughts and ideas and fire them into the Internet at quite an alarming speed, mostly because I have a hugely over inflated sense of importance and worth, but also because writing stuff is fun. Sadly, as I have already stated, something terrible has happened. In the past few weeks I have found it increasingly difficult to find anything to write about. I’ve had the whirlwind, but the wooden house landed just outside Oz and the Munchkins can’t really be fucked. Little legs.

Today: nothing. Not struggling. Not slim pickings. Nothing. The bit of my head that usually contains angry, emotional, funny, bitter and opinionated arse is almost completely empty, all that’s left is the quiet whistling sound that your nose makes when you breath in before sighing. Followed by a sigh. I did have quite a heavy weekend, which does account for the slowness of the cogs and the flatness of the soul. I am very tired. But that doesn’t usually stop me finding something to whine about, and I haven’t wound someone up and watched them go for ages. That’s not right. So I had a ponder and it turns out I’m incredibly bored, so bored that I’m shutting down parts of my consciousness that allow me to process boredom, like a psychological self lobotomy. In situations of low engagement my brain runs at minimum, a massively useful tool when you need to look like you’re there but want to stare out of the window or imagine what it would be like if you could hover, but a hindrance when you can’t turn it back up to 11.
It seems that over use of the Brain Off Eyes Open technique causes a reliance on it, with all higher functioning taking a back seat. At current speed of decline I will be a full moron in under a year, a calculation that is frightening in spite of the fact I probably did it wrong. I can either accept my fate, buy some jogging bottoms, Ugg boots and frost my tips, or I can start to fight back. Ordinarily I would flee from battle but I only have to fight my own brain, and I happen to have insider information that suggests my opponent is gullible, shallow and weak as. Firstly, I have purchased some books – actual books, on actual paper – and I’m going to read them. I know, but drastic times and all that. Reading a different voice provides a fresh vocabulary, engages the mind and fires the imagination, so it seems a good starting point. Also, depending on the literature, reading makes you look clever, and if you look clever, you feel clever and if you feel clever, you look smug. Or something. I shall be consuming, with my eyes, a selection of books by Hunter S. Thompson, of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas fame, because I find him to be an interesting chap who is saying something worth listening to.
I’m also going to start dropping inflammatory statements into conversation, just to see what happens. This may involve taking wildly uninformed stances on any given topic and declaring all opposers to be mentally sub normal. That’ll be fun, and it’ll keep my mind active and entertained, I may even try out some of the more potentially offensive bits from some new stand up material I’ve got. I’m going to do some different things, I’m not entirely sure what yet but by golly, they’re gonna be different and I’m gonna do them. Less computer gaming and television, more writing, talking, singing and creating. Kick start the old grey cells. The key, I think, is to put less effort into the mundane, the constant and the expected and more into individual passions, opinion and desire. This is made tricky by the mundane and expected being what provides money with which to remain alive. Remaining alive is crucial.
With a bit of tinkering I think I’ll be back to my normal argumentative, intrigued, over analysing self in no time, which is of great comfort to you I’m sure. Paid employment is a wonderful thing but only if it’s allowing you to do something that matters when you’re not there, and it only has to be something that matters to you. Volunteering at the local hospice in your spare time is bloody nice of you and probably very rewarding, but if you want to spend your evenings carving the faces of celebrities into individual grains of rice, then you go for it. I know which I’d rather be doing, but then I’m a bastard. At the risk of sounding a bit of a cock, all that’s important is that you keep doing the thing you love doing, the thing you know probably won’t ever make your fortune or fame, but the thing that makes you you. God, I feel a bit sick now. For the sake of balance I feel I should say that I’m still not fond of most of you and that it’s mostly your fault I’m like this right now. Tiresome.

So, anyone who knows me: apologies. Apologies for being a bit of a bore of late, and apologies for being a bit of a selfish, mischievous git in the coming days and weeks. You’ve put up with me this long, so I figure any damage I do will be minimal and soon forgotten, better that than go full Idiot. Those who don’t know me get no sorry, I will come and go and whatever I do will pass. I may appeal on whatever level and that would be marvellous, but if it’s not for you just keep quiet and wait for it to leave. There are billions of us and you shouldn’t waste time on the ones you don’t get, I certainly don’t.

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