Saturday, July 2, 2011

The Madness

I prefer the night to day. I prefer the winter to summer. And I prefer writing to cleaning the house, cooking, going to work, going to parties, going to ball games, watching the shit on TV, going to the idiotic movies made in Hollywood these days, and a whole host of other activities. I must be mad to continue to do them.

I find it hard to understand how people don't spend their lives writing. It's so sanitary. If I have an argument, I know I'll win. If someone dies, I know it's for the better. Crawl in a cave and play God.

Now, excuse me, God has to go sweep off the deck because God's wife has had enough of his procrastination.


  1. I prefer reading, but since I can't find much I like to read anymore, I write. How controlling is that.

  2. ha ha, God. Good to know that someone has you under control. You can weed my garden when you're done with the deck.

  3. Not good. Who knew I could relate to a deity. Completely. And while sweeping that deck, I'd not notice life passing me by while plot holes swirl and dance like leafs in the wind, watch them soar.