There once was a boy named Dan. He sat down in front of his computer and thought real hard. But on this day, he had nothing really to say. Dan thought, and he frowned, and he even tapped out a word or two, but nothing much came to mind. The big bad delete button ate all his work. Dan pouted and said; “foo on you, bad button.” But the bad delete button just laughed and told Dan it was his own fault.
Silly Dan. Only a Dummy-Butt sits at a computer with nothing to say.
The blank page mocked Mr. Dammit as he sat in silence contemplating this new quandary. Where had the words made off to? China-town? The casino down by the back alley? Perhaps they were sitting right now with a hot dame having a laugh on Dan’s behalf? There may have been a million stale stories to tell in this sinful city, but not one of them planned on spending a moment in this blogger’s thick skull, not today. What happened, Mr. Dammit wondered? And why in the Hell had he taken to referring to himself in the third person?
Three clues presented themselves to Mr. Dammit’s attention, a giant sucking sound somewhere in his head, or perhaps his heart, a sick feeling in his gut, and silly succotash filling the veranda with purple sounds and pie-happy smiles just like it was Thursday. Dan wasn’t entirely sure about the third clue, but he was pretty sure that it meant something.
Perhaps that something was an iconic relationship to the thoughtful imaginary which in its apparent absence effectively alluded to the very discursive framework which had given rise to its formation, completely over-determining the salient features of this particular subjectivity so as to elide the general significance of the mundane and occlude the purple succotash in a manner consonant with racist/sexist/heterosexist/picodegalloist ontologies firmly rooted in the praxis of neo-corporatist brownie projection.
Dan thought real hard. What was the line?
“You put hot butter on your brownie and you be havin’ a party in your mouth.”
Her breathing quickened as she responded; “will juicy flavors rave all over my taste buds?”
“They will indeed, baby,” he stood over her XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX well, XXXX XXXXXX XXXXX XXXX yes, yes! XXXXXXX XXXX XXXXX YES!!!!
XXXXXX XX XXXX but never in these pants XXXXXXX XX XXXXXXXXXX XXX XXXX
…sadly, these memories did little to help Dan find a thought worth inflicting on his own computer. Strangely, his fingers moved without thought across the keyboard anyway. Words appeared as ghosts upon his screen, words lacking thought, like bodies without a soul. The irony, Dan thought, the irony!
Irony is a fricking hot-buttered brownie.
Thank you. …He was actually sick in this photo, which is one of the reasons he was hiding under a blanket. Poor guy. Anyway, he’s better now and back to his old alpha-kitty self.
Reblogged this on The Dixie Flatline.
Thank you Daz. Hope your readers enjoyed this.
No worries. Your exposition on writer’s block solved my writer’s block problem quite handily…
Offers a napkin.
Lol, …thank you.
KG Visions said:
I will never be able to eat a brownie again without thinking about this 🙂 TY
My work is done. 🙂
Pretty funny post for someone with nothing to say! I wish my brain did that!
Lol, …thank you shelli.
Great way of working through writer’s block… just write words, without thought, and, eventually something takes shape… fun post!
Thank you John. …yeah, just had to do something, not just to make a post, but to try and get my brain in gear again.
chinese painting said:
good to see this post!! Fido is quite cool
I and Fido thank you.
Fido rocks and you’re pretty funny:) Inner dialogue on paper…nice.
Thank you. My cat does rock.
A view from Old Hand said:
Wonderful they way you write about having nothing to write about. This is a genre, which Conrad, Rilke, Kafka and many others were masters at. Conrad, the great stylist, waxed eloquent about having no style-nothing to say.
I love the way fellow bloggers are always writing about this subject. Makes me feel better about my own blockage. Hey, but block is just the obverse of flow, and both are needed. Rather than block we might call it “taking a break.”
Taking a break is definitely a good thing. …Things never look the same when you get to the other side.
A view from Old Hand said:
Reblogged this on A View from the Wheelhouse and commented:
A great post. He writes eloquently about the inability to write. Something I’m sure my blogger friends can relate to.
Thank you OH; hope your readers enjoyed it.
Well, at least “the irony, the irony” is better than “the horror, the horror.” Is it possible that you are feeling relatively good at the moment? That is, no urgent targets to take on? At least, I hope that explains it.
Actually, it was more like a nasty break-up and my brain didn’t want to move on. I had to make it do something though, thank you for asking.
Ah, the fallibility of therapists like me!. My condolences.
I’ll live. …how much do I owe you doc?
It is on the house!
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