confessions of a nasal mist addict

I’ve been taking cheap shots, literately.

I’m forgoing convention in favor  of creating better content.  So as far as for going forward and in an attempt to mature myself and that which springs forth eternal from the hard drive between my ears (and perhaps more representative of my years) I will endeavor to drop my abuse and overuse of alliteration and all it’s children.

“Oh my…say it just ain’t so Ken Bob.”

Well, yeah it is.  How I say it has become more important than what I say and while I’m known f0r and thrive on contrarian thinking, while I’m known for taking the fork in the road (and the spoon and the knife as well; I enjoy a two fisted meal…ya’ know?) and while I’m known for my equal parts passion and lust when it comes to abuse and validation; drizzle drazzle, drizzle drum one more run on sentence, one more bastardization of the English language and I’s done.  And for you dear reader; eyes done.

Call me Mick, but I can’t get no (da-da-da) satisfaction.  I’m the kind of guy who when he gets to the top of the mountain says something like “Could’ve got here faster if I would’ve…” or utter the angst of anti-climatic calculations and assumptions of goals not set high enough, deep in a trough of delirious doubt I fail to reward my self.  And now I find myself at a similar precipice and I’m pissed.  Well, at least peeved and pondering platitudes of the past and present.

So no more homophobic homilies, no more wanton whimsy, goodbye to gregarious gorging on words, wisdumb and the weakness associated with a continual dose of verbal sucker punches that satisfy the senses for seven seconds like that six dollar bowl of fro-yo you ate last week.

This week and weeks going forward I’m gonna feed you the fat.  I write this as I struggle through this weeks verbage yet to be finished to my fancy.  But from breakdown comes breakthrough, that which does not kill me only makes me stronger and at the end of the day…it gets dark.  And as we all know it’s darkest right before it gets pitch black.  I find myself once again mired in the mud of my own making.

How will  make the shift from a stream of (un)consciousness where the words flow like wine only to wilt like wroses?  My machete maligned, it’s edge as dull as that which you now read, that which you drink like beer and later dispose of in kind minutes later I endeavor to persevere.  I remain inspired by those around me and recent readings of “The Ten Things You Can Do To Become A Better Writer.”

1. Write.
2. Write more.
3. Write even more.
4. Write even more than that.
5. Write when you don’t want to.
6. Write when you do.
7. Write when you have something to say.
8. Write when you don’t.
9. Write every day.
10. Keep writing.

I’ll add one more to make it a nice uneven 11:  When you can’t write, write about it.

So there.

How about that?

Good gawd; what hath my witing wrought.

~ by The Ken Bob on July 3, 2009.

Posted in op ed head
Tags: writing