I used to have a bit of wit. And now my wit is shit. See that's as clever as I will ever get. I'm out of ideas, I haven't written anything is months. It's bullshit. I once had a this semblance of clever wordplay, now I just have a hamper of dirty laundry and I don't even fuckn' know what else. Probably scabies. Scaby baby.

I'm not in Boston anymore. I'm still dating this girl. I've been thinking of trying to write a little micro/short story but I haven't had the ability to get it off the ground. It's startling. I found this site, I Write Like. And if you put in two of your works your going to get two seperate authors, the only way to know for sure is to take several pieces and put them through the site. I got Corey Doctorow, he's not a real doctor or a real row. Or a row of doctors, I don't know who this dipshit is.

I enjoyed this site at a time. I always had a response, but these days. I got nothing, nothing in the ways of words. You know what I've wanted to do. I've wanted to go outside and work with my hands. I've decided I don't want to work indoors, no office jobs for me. No retail or factory work. Actually I worked in a factory for a day. That wasn't to bad, physical work is pretty good. It's really zen like. Here's the thing, being outside and working with the world, the earth and the plants. There's something spiritual and freeing about it. It feels cleaner outside, it's always fresher.

Words aren't for me. I've witnessed poets expressing themselves through their artfully chosen phrases and rhythms. I have friends who aspire to be novalists. I don't have that in me. I don't feel bad for lacking it. Although, I truly appreciate it and admire the wordsmiths, poets and writers.