I suppose I shouldn’t write anything tonight.
I’ve decided this wholeheartedly. After last night’s incredibly ridiculous post, I understand that I simply should not write after 8PM, and certainly not at two in the morning. No, no I won’t write tonight. I ramble too much, I rant too thoroughly, I assume and poke and prod at the dead animal of ideas that I write about, I then ramble about the poking and prodding once I realize what I am doing.
Chain my netbook to my desk, keep the darn thing shut with superglue and cement, and perhaps a layer of spirit gum for good measure. Build an alarm system so that I won’t wander near it. Hide my notebooks and pens (you don’t have to worry about the pencils, I dislike writing with pencils so I won’t touch them if you leave them out in the open.) Hide my eyeliner and lipstick, lest the notion strikes for me to scribble on a nearby mirror or wall or window or lampshade. I cannot write tonight, and if I consider it, then those of you who call me your friend must take certain measures, identical to the ones just described. If you fail, then you must attack my words postmortem via hacking methods.
In any case, I must be kept from publishing a single word, because I can assure you it will be of the most foolish and idiotic tones. The most ignorant monologues. The most childish phrasing.