I’m so glad that I’m not trying to “grow as a writer.” I like being a one trick pony. I didn’t know that ponies performed tricks, or that they had more than one to do. I’m glad that I’m more than that and thus less. Oooh…mental backflips, I see ya goin’ ass over teakettle. Oooh. Nothing. Nothing at all.
Charles Bukowski is worse than Charles Bukowski.
Am I hyper or something? This sucks. Sucks, sucks, sucks. It hurts to re-read. I’m going to write book reviews of teen fiction on Amazon, that are way too long and “deep.”
“And I’ll have miles to go before I sleep.”
Robert Frost farted in a breadbasket once, and I heard Seamus Heaney bought it from the afterlife.
(Credit: Google search for words)
Yeah, I’m having too much fun with this. I need to go ahead and quit.