As a writer I often look back through old pieces that I have started, some have been put aside due to a writing myself into a corner. Others are suddenly fresh again and I find myself enjoying the craft of writing, as I watch the work come to life.
This morning I found the curious title, "Worm Holes and Root Canals," which I assumed somehow referred to a recent trip to the dentist. But in reading it I found the effects of pain medicine... and... well... maybe you should have a look.
Worm Holes and Root Canals
Today I had the experience of a ‘Root Canal.’ Then I came home and took heavy does of opioid narcotics (I used spell-check on opioid and it chose copious, hmm provenance, I think not! ((Just when I thought I was on to something, I noticed the next word was Poodle))
The 1987 movie Sergeant Pepper’s Hearts Club band was on, while my body was telling me that I’ve been neglective of so much. At one point I was watching the Bee Gees butcher some of the greatest music ever written while looking back over a life of waste and sin, wondering why I hadn’t done the work to bring my art to life. My mouth was throbbing and my head was swimming. Steve Martin is doing his worst work, and arguably the weakest song in the movie and I can’t stop thinking about my writing, poetry and painting.
But why did you kill John Lennon? What could you hope to achieve? The affect of your work is trash. The effect of your work is trash.
Hmm, well there it is. I think I'll go make some coffee now... uh... er... well, goodbye.
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