writer without words

I’d love to expand further, but I think the title sums up why I can’t. While I can hit some keys and look at a thesaurus, it’s all soulless bullshit, so don’t expect much of this blog. I kinda just bashed my head open and let my brains drip on the page. Enjoy the torment! Even now I’m trying to think of a palatable way to explain, filtering all my thoughts through a hundred online translators and then staring blankly at the screen all for a fucking sentence. Ii don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m supposed to be talking about the fucking frilly flower-ification of prose and doing it at the exact same time. Oh, someone stab me in the throat with a fucking pen.

In the pursuit of ugh. selling my words? I've lost the ability to speak. Maybe it’s for the same reason taking lessons for guitar ruins your motivation. Why guitar? I'm thinking about Mikey Way. Don’t ask. There has to be a way to reverse this, or I think I might lose my mind. Nothing exists unless it’s pretty, so I’ve basically become a ghost. When someone speaks to me, my husk of a body responds as i command it from miles away. Wow, that was off topic. Maybe I should do one of those exercises where you write for 20 or so minutes straight and see where you get? Then I wouldn’t be able to put my mind on pause while I think of a nice synonym or metaphor. I could also try to blog every day, which actually sounds a bit fun.

It’s a little stupid I’m acting as if there’s an expectation I have to write. Nobody will suffer from of my silence, except for me. The reason for this lack i mentioned earlier doesn’t sit right. Must be something else. I suppose it could be because of the importance I put on my words. Better to cower in the corner than confess and be rejected, you know? If I don’t write, I can’t mess up, and I can('t) survive off stray thoughts. 

i might die, who wants to hang out after the funeral? ^_^

xx, frankfurter