I don't feel like writing. I don't want to be creative. I have no desire to channel my emotions into any project of any form and there's nothing you can do to change that.
Leave me alone, you fucking muses.
Let me wallow. Pout. Passively drown in a private story of despair. Let me feel without fucking manufacturing something beautiful. Life's not always beautiful. It's broke and broken-hearted, rude, savage, selfish, and hungry. It's out of control, out of mine, out of yours, out of ours. It's out of its god damned mind!
Don't ask me for prose, for symmetry and soliloquy. For highlights and vibrance and action and light. We're all out over here. Store's closed. Lights out. Nothing to see but the things you don't want to see so go inspire someone else to death.
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