Writer's Block
by A.L.D.
I know a lot of writers. Or, at least, people who think they are writers. Myself included.
My boyfriend is a writer.
It’s mesmerizing to watch an artist at work. They can be lost and found on the same day. The process isn’t really a process at all, rather, an unpredictable journey that includes lots of swearing, stealing ideas (which I recently l earned is actually a flattering and loving gesture), and other activities which shall remain unnamed, until there’s nothing left to do but put pen to page.
So, what is it about writing, a truly archaic art form, that has suddenly become so taboo?
Maybe it’s social media, attacks on the first amendment, generational pains...blah, blah, blah.
None of that noise matters. What does matter is the day you feel like your words don’t matter is the same day you find yourself, someone else, or just a fuckery of feelings.
As I write this I want to throw it away. But isn’t that the point? Shouldn’t you feel a freakishly crave-able disgust toward your own work? I say, yes. Embrace that addiction. It’s better than most.
Perhaps I’m imitating the gnarl of Bukowski or envying the flowing quill of Shakespeare, but here’s what I’m driving at: this is for everyone. The punks, princesses, and poets alike. The worst regret one can have is not saying it. So why not be loud?
Welcome to The OrphanAGE
Santa Can You Pay My Bills
by Swoovi
Santa Can You Pay My Bills, by Swoovi
Swoovi sends a holiday greeting...
Jason Ryberg, Poems
by Jason Ryberg
Not Quite Done
Hell, I knew Winter
wasn’t quite done with us, just
yet, still had some low
temperatures to
dole out, yet, some icy, sting-
ing sleet, some slipp’ry,
treacherous streets to
undermine our sure footing
and automotive
traction around town,
still just a bit more of that
seasonally a-
ffective psy-opps stuff –
makin’ sure - we don’t go and
get too big on him.
Either Way, Not Much is Happening
This would appear to
be just another random
snapshot or off-the-
cuff still-life study
or grainy security
cam footage, even,
of just one more name-
less intersection somewhere
in America,
mid-winter, maybe,
three or four in the morning,
and for all we can
see, it could be in
the old warehouse district of
a big city or
the heart of a small
town, if we could just pull back
the boarders and zoom
out a little, but
we can’t, because this is old
school / retro, so to
speak, almost what they
used to call “found,” and that all
means, at the very
least, that this is what
you get and answers may be
slow in the coming.
This Frigid December Night
The moon appears so
brittle and fragile on this
frigid December
night that the slightest sharp sound
just might cause it to crack like
a bone china dinner plate.
Guerilla Decorating at the "Magic Rock"
by Dante
Twas the night before splooging
We all watched the clock
In eager anticipation
Of that very Magic Rock
Some alternative holiday decorating in support of Gold Star families.
Clem: Marge them holiday decorations look an awful lot like...
Marge: Dick and balls Clem, dick and balls...
These domestic rabble-rousers were overheard sayings, "...if you're enjoying our alt-display of holiday cheer, please drop a donation to America's Gold Star Families!" Resources, programs, and scholarships for families that have lost a loved one serving active duty in the U.S. Armed Forces.
