Opposing Sides, RIP.

I am a writer who doesn’t write.

I haven’t written for 10 months. A very specific incident marks the draught of my creative juju (hint: it’s a four letter word that begins with S, ends with U2C and connotes Stand Up To Cancer).

Turns out, writing is just like riding a bike: You remember how to do it well enough to get to the end of the block, but when you inevitably fall on your ass, people will shamelessly laugh and point their finger at you.

This means that my re-premier has to be really good. That’s a lot of pressure. And, as everyone knows from the movies, writers crumple under pressure. We stop eating, talk to ourselves, chain smoke, and sleep with crazy people (often erroneously referred to as “inspiration.”)

Sitting down to write, I crack my knuckles and take the only logical start: I log onto Facebook to play Scrabulous. Imagine my HORROR to find that it was gone!! I really have been on a desert island. How will anyone ever write anything again? This is not cool.

Well, as Jesus used to say, if you can’t write something new, destroy something old.

I log into Blogger to do the world the good deed of removing the artsy-fartsy-faggy poem that I wrote while curing cancer and exorcising crazy people.

I would show you exactly how bad it was, except it’s gone to Artsy-Fartsy-Faggy-Poem-Heaven now. It will be happy there, dancing capitalizationless and punctuationless among other clauses like “shadows of the lonely soul,” “imperceptible silence,” and “from the dream away.”

RIP