I've found myself carving out some valuable time to sit and write recently, only to stare at the blank page in front of me with absolute terror. In older days I saw a vast oasis of possibilities for my dark images to populate, and then rape and torture one another, now the page just looks right back at me and punches me in the gut.
A cruel twist of irony that only god or the devil or whatever fucking Turkey-like creature that controls everything in our universe could devise; now that I've found a bit of happiness to call my own I can't create anything for shit. Maybe the years of living and dwelling and sobbing inside my own head over the innumerable minutia of life that I inevitably put way too much value into would drum up valuable material to create things, but now trying to make a better version of myself just creates more mundane and mediocre work on the page.
I would hesitate to call myself the fearless leader of the Labs, as it has been and always will be a dual-helmed beast; much like a mutated polar bear, with two heads and three arms fucking ripping apart everything it sees move. And also, fearless is not something that would aptly describe me when it comes to creation. I'm riddled with self-doubt, biased perception of my own work, and lack of respect for the basics of craft-work. I would say that I am definitely a bewildered bystander, watching the three-armed, two-headed hulking beast of a polar bear who for some reason responds to the name "Coffee Cup Cunt" claw and chomp its way through a village of fishermen and fisherwomen and fisherchildren. Fisherdogs and fishercats are not allowed.
This is not a letter of resignation, this is a letter of invocation. Google tells me that invocation sorta means "the summoning of a deity or supernatural power" which is certainly what I need right now. I need some sort of inner-beast to rise up and spew out of my mouth with blood and vomit and guttural noises echoing throughout this Starbucks. No, I won't leave, I don't care if it's closing time, I am a godless monster who is unparalleled in any way that you can imagine, you should fear for your children as they will bow to me during my reign and not have the luxury of a swift, easy death that you will go through. Yes, I would like a refill for only fifty cents.
So although most of my days are filled with spreadsheets and emails that make my eyeballs crumble inside of themselves and my nights are filled with not eating this or not eating that and making sure I get enough steps in at the cost of my feet becoming little daggers that pierce the soft supple body of Mother Gaia with each step, I am going to chase down some of these things that used to float around inside the dimly-lit closets of my mind. I'm done giving a shit if what I make is good or not, I'm just gonna throw as much of it into the ether as I can and hope that it sets itself ablaze and brings this whole world down.
You can join me if you'd like.