You asked me if you should leave,
if you're distracting me from writing,
if I need to take time to think -
No. Nooo!
I need the opposite actually.
Keep talking to me, at me, with me, towards me -
distract me!
Make me think about other things, weird things,
nonsensical phantasmagoria things -
throw cats at my window carrying kettles,
make me teach turtles to juggle giant seagulls -
anything other than leave me alone to sit here
and play patty cake with my writer's block - why?
It cheats, horribly you see,
it knows my every next move,
a patty cake grand master,
grand hamster,
grand honey ham,
mango honey fruit,
paint-stripping mango rum -
stop staring, I'm letting my mind run with it!
You look at me, incredulous and palming a
pepper spray in case I foam at the mouth -
Everyone is different, you say, I didn't know.
It's alright m'love,
when I see a writer's block, I have to inspect it,
analyze it, kick it, taste it, lick it, maybe sit on it to
think, think, think.
I know I'm a loony, I know I'm a mad hatter,
but I can't help it, when the block won't move -
it stares at me and doesn't give a fuck.
How selcouth, you vulgar common plebeian of a man"
oh shush, you old crone! You're as bad as the rest in here -
you stifle his mind, you bend him to your will, why don't
you let him run a little wild among the trees - it won't harm
anyone else, no one lives in here except me, you, and old Mephistopheles.
You look at me incredulous, grinning,
"My dear" you expectorate, "I do believe you're mad,"
"Which is good, because that's just what the block doesn't want."
My eyes open, a cacophony of sounds and images,
of maids in roller skates going through Escher paintings,
of tea cups swallowing sugar cubes and spoons,
of a baby grand piano with hamsters for wheels -
oh, my mind is open again...
"You, my dear, are an antique,
nostalgic,
mephistophelean old gypsy soul
that I've been searching for for all
my life."
No wonder we're so connected -
we're mad just the same.
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