I Do Not Want to Write


 

Hate I to write.  I don’t wanna write.  Yes, I dislike to compose words on a blank screen.  Ya, ya, ya, das Writing ist nischt gut.  Pain in the butt.  Who cares?  Don’t even like to read.  Let alone listen to words.  Talking is useless.  Music is better sound than voice.  Human voice only speaks nonsense.  No sense.  Not sensible.  No sense talking to people because they don’t listen.  And they are too stupid to understand.  No, no, I don’t hate people.  I just hate them.  But I don’t want them to hate me.  Hate to write. Hat to write.  Has to write. Have to write.  Why can’t I write?  Because a person told me not to be me.  Told me to be more polite and sensitive to hurting people’s feelings.  Told me told me told me.  Why did I listen?  It was too many words and words are meaningless.  Words are mean.  Words are obscene.  Words can cut and kill.  Words cut to the bone.  Boneless and spineless.  Useless.  Why did I listen?  She told me not to write my own words.  Write proper words instead.  Write nice stuff.  You are a shit.  A shit head and your writing is shit.  Nobody likes you.  I hate you.  I hate myself.  I hate to write.  I hate this pressure, the pressure cooker.  The pressing.  The pressitivity of expressiveness.  The plain speaking.  The spit.  The spit.  The spit.  The spit.  Spitting of syllables.  Expressing of expressions.  Pressing out a phrase like a turd.  The breaths one must take between phrases.  The phrasing.  The back phrasing.  The cutting in under the beats.  The performance of words.  The presentation of words to the audience.  To the readers.  To the breeders.  The agnostic.  The unlistening, unknowing, unwashed.  To the literate.  To the listening literate. To the overly critical, hard to please.  To the ones who laugh at all words.  To the ones who sneeze at all words.  To the ones who beg for more, who strip me of my words and still want more.  Who peel my skin and suck the words from my sweat.  Who drool for my words.  Who dry me up when they have sucked out my words.  What’s that I said?  I couldn’t hear myself thinking the words.  I can’t hear the words bzzzing around my brain.  Where are the synapses with the words?  They have been filled up with glue.  They do not open and shut.  The gates.  The and gates.  The or gates.  They do not function.  What is the meaning of nominal aphasia?  What is the meaning of linguistic purpuritude?  What is the meaning of manhood?  What is the meaning of Minnesota multiphasic?  What is the meaning of meandering?  Gerrymandering?  Commandeering?  Remanding?  Expanding?  Clamdigging?  What is the meaning of the meaningless of the sense of the senseless of the change of the changeless and the operations on the inoperable?  Where do we find Gertrude Stein?  How did I manage to miss out on all that?  How can I get my life back?  When will I be young again?  Why can’t I write what I feel?  Why do I hate to write?

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