Humble Origins and Endings
I used to write quite a bit. I would spend hours at home toiling away with constantly erased poems in notepad. Too afraid to do something fun like start a game or even draw a mural but too bored to start my homework, I would sit and spit out whatever came to mind, much like now. And I guess that leads to now. I was hoping to have more written by the time I reached this point. A kind of bitter sweet ocean of ideas that flow through the brain like once forgotten letters found in desk drawers with scribbled jokes and drawings that may have been an artistic abomination but certainly serviceable to portray what tom cruise would look like if he actually did eat one thousand dicks. The point, though, is that I am browsing through all these ideas that I once thought would make good material to write about and share but none of them particularly grab me. In fact the one idea I keep coming back to is trying to not start all of these sentences with the word “I” and I’m not sure but I’d say three “I”s in a sentence should equal an “I” beginning and now I fear that I’ve fallen into a structural depth that I cannot escape from.
This all stems from my fifth grade teacher who, to give you an idea of his character, set me aside and apologized for pairing me with the ugliest boy in class for reading groups and was later fired for referring to a child as a Jew. Maybe not a Jew, but a jew. I wrote a paper that he did not take a liking to. I believe he thought I wasn’t a very good writer, which didn’t surprise me too much because I was in fifth grade. He took the green pen he used to correct (because he believed that red pen had a bad association, so now I think of green and red in a negative light though I am thankful he never discovered the ever flamboyant rainbow pen), and circled all the times I used “I” to start a sentence. “It’s a memoir!” I pleaded, but it wasn’t enough. After seeing all the circles I did kind of see his point. I I I am doomed.
Now that I’ve spent a paragraph writing nothing of relevance to anything I think I have set the mood for what this will be: A place for thoughts and other gay things. Instead of taking a seat on porcelain once a day, I think I’ll come here. It may seem silly but our sewers have much less shit than the world wide web, so to contribute to the www seems like a drop in the bucket and an nbd. Come, stay awhile, take off your shoes, read up on some info, and clean up that mess you just made. You could have at least aimed for a kleenex.
