This morning I stepped outside the apartment to walk the dog and tripped over some dude sprawled out on the doorstep scribbling away in his journal. I don't know who the fuck he was or what the fuck he thought he was doing there but I do know what it's like to have an idea and need to get it down on paper before it gets savagely shredded into oblivion by the frenzy of the daily mind, so I mumbled a quick sorry and kept walking.
Pilot hopped over him like it was no big deal.
Dude never looked up.
Junior singing "Tiptoe through the tulips" while laughing like a crazed hyena.
Not ten steps down the sidewalk I encountered another human. This one was hunched over a huge tube of pink chalk, scooping pretty words out of the depths of her romantic conscious/subconscious and scraping it onto the concrete. The rain washed the words away as fast as she could write them, but that didn't discourage her. She kept at it, pausing every few words to throw an awestruck, inspired glance of gratitude toward the heavens.
I pretended not to see her or her washed-out poetry.
Pilot didn't. He stopped to sniff a rose-tinted puddle. Attempted in his wily doggy way to inquire what the word had been before it melted. I gave his leash a tug. I didn't want to know what she was writing. What if the poetry was better than mine?
Pilot relented.
We forged on.
Lod flipping us all off.
We rounded the corner.
Yeah, we rounded the corner of the block and there they were. Writers. Everywhere. Hundreds of them. And you know what they were doing?
Writing.
Fucking bastards were writing in journals and laptops, on digital pads, on tiny paper pads, on their arms, on the road, on fences, on walls, on each other. Some sat in cars, some on them. One draped lazily across a branch like a late afternoon cheetah. Others sat on soggy blankets in wet grass, or on steps and stoops of neighboring houses.
All of them writing.
Madly.
Passionately.
Effortlessly.
Suddenly, it all became clear.
Junior trying to think of something nice to say after reading one of my old poems but not coming up with anything good. Just be honest, Junior. I can take it.
This was what had happened to my muses. My creative energy. My inspiration. These motherfuckers had tromped over to my block and set up shop right next to my creative outlet. They drained all the power and ran up an energy bill so high it's a wonder I'd been able to get myself out of bed that morning.
But why? Why me? Why my block? The neighborhood had much nicer places for them to hold their scribapalooza. Hell, there was a park two blocks away! Why couldn't they have gone there?
Biggie consulting the Oracle of Tulip about the outcome of the flailing and failing attempt to make a joke about writer's block.
I had to do something. I couldn't just let those people take over. I couldn't simply give up. What a horrible way to end the story.
I wracked my brain.
It needed to be brilliant. Witty. Hilarious, even.
But you see, that was the problem. Is the problem. I don't have any ideas. No funnies or clevers left inside this brain of mine. There's nothing in there but a dense block of wood.
And a termite.
(But that doesn't matter cuz you're just here for the pictures.)
Biggie procuring a nugget of truth from the Oracle of Tulip but not sharing it with me so I guess I'll just sit here all ignorant and shit until I die.
Photos shot with Nikon D7500 and edited in Lightroom.
Blog written by no one, because the would-be writer hasn't been able to come up with anything for days.
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All the stuff (pictures, words, etc.) I put in this post and any of my other posts is mine (unless otherwise stated) and can't be used by anyone else unless I say it's ok.A percentage of this post's rewards goes back to support the community.10% goes to support @torem-di-torem and her animal shelter in Ukraine.
Junior consulting the Oracle of Tulip and getting all the answers she could ever hope for, because she's Junior and deserves no less, even if she did compared my poetry to dog shit.
I see what you did there.
Everyone asks where is @corvidae's pictures, but no one asks how is @corvidae
Nobody wants to ask, either. Nobody has time for the answer.
This was a really good blog considering nobody wrote it. What artificial intelligence software did you use?
!BEER
That's a very generous compliment, glitterboy. Thank you.
I don't use AI software, actually. I use GS hardware. Genuine Stupidity. It's fully integrated into my system.
I've never heard of GS before but I'll definitely research it. Sounds like my kind of thing. Thanks for the recommendation 👍
Of course! I think it's integrated into the systems of most humans, but hardly any of them realize they have it or (nor?) how often they use it.
Thanks for all the beer. Totally buzzed now.
I don't have any of that cool stuff you mentioned either. One of the great things about the fact that so few people actually read things is that we can write whatever the heck we want...and so few people will read it! I can write some total garbage that I am not proud of, or something extremely personal that I don't actually want to talk about...and so few people will read it! It's brilliant! I feel like a genius for not developing much of a following. ;)
Anyway, this was a lovely blog, and I'm glad that I read it. That image of you (of course I am making it you) writing with sidewalk chalk in the rain is beautiful.
Oh, and I'm sure that termite you are keeping as a snack for the birds. Of course.
This is true! The downside is that those who do read it are usually writers and will tell you things like lovely blog, and I'm glad that I read it and then go behind your back and point and snicker at all the typos and grammatical errors and general shortcomings.
No, wait, that's just me doing that to myself after I've already posted and gone back and edited twice hoping nobody noticed and then discovering the next day that there's still a bunch of errors that need to be fixed. If you ever need someone to give me a hard time, I'm your man.
I do love that whole write whatever the fuck you want thing, though. I don't mind sharing my madness with just a handful of you.
Lol! Fear not, I have never observed errors in your writing. I look at everything here from my own stance - I just throw stuff on there, and I do proof-read it, but I always assume that the standard for shiny polished stuff is kind of low. It isn't a book - it's not something that was worked hard on for a prolonged time. It's just today's random stuff. And I like that about this place. So don't make things really shiny.
Ditto. I bet you are really good at scaring yourself too. Nobody can scare me, like me. Isn't that kind of terrible? Like with nightmares. The subconscious just has such an unfair advantage - it has way too much privileged information to abuse.
Agreed, I don't mind sharing my madness with a handful. Yay for only a handful. Says an introvert.
Oh, man, I am sooo good at scaring myself. I can lay there in bed at night and imagine 5,000 ways Pilot could get hurt or die in under ten seconds. I imagine parents have similar talents?
Hive- a place for introverts.
Unfortunately I've been talented in the art of self-scare since I was a child. OCD has been a close companion of mine for a long time. Hey - we are good at this - everybody needs a talent! :)
That could be a moto for Hive. A place for introverts. Except the vast majority of the folks on the trending page probably aren't introverts...so maybe not:)
Sick the Crow Murder on him! hahahhahahaa
HA! In broad daylight, though??
Kid totally deserved it, I bet.
Hahaha... That cat was like a ninja!
I wonder if the kid survived...
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