I wish I could come up with something,
I really do.
I mean how long can it take for inspiration to strike?
Do I have to stand outside in an electrical storm under the tallest Norfolk pine to be struck?
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
I know slouching around doesn’t help or reading Beth’s poem on Cheetos and working up an appetite for snack foods won’t do it either.
Maybe if I played with my Rubik’s Cube like Maro does might do it — loosen up a few brain cells.
Perhaps if I go outside and wail beneath the full moon like uncle did before they took him away.
God, there must be something.
They still do ECT, don’t they?
That’s what happened to uncle. He saw God, angels, the whole shebang then settled down among the fairies at the bottom of the garden.
But he found something. He wasn’t wracked anymore. He found quiescence. If you got that, you don’t need anything else.
Shit, did I just write all that?