I have poems in my head. They’re going to start a riot and break out of the prison of my brain if I don’t let them out onto paper. I ask them to be patient, but it’s not in the nature of a poem, or any piece of writing really, to be patient.
I have things I want to write about poetry that, imprisoned on another level, are going to get wind of the poems’ riot and will shortly there after shiv the nearest guard and lift his keys.
I am not participating in National Novel Writing Month this year. While it’s been in the back of my mind, it’s only come to the fore in the last couple days, and there’s no way in hell my current work situation will afford me the time or energy to write that much. Although there is a story unraveling that could probably be 50k words long if I tugged hard enough on the threads it’s been giving me. It lives in the basement of the poem prison, in solitary confinement, biding its time.
An idea I had some months ago has regurgitated. I’m going to conduct something of an experiment. I need audio recording software. I’ve read Audacity is good. No clue where this will lead but what the fuck. It patiently tunnels through the walls of the prison, hiding the hole in its cell behind posters of pretty boys — Jensen Ackles, Matt Boemer, Misha Collins, Cillian Murphy.
The guards are brutal as fuck. When this thing breaks, people might get hurt. Fuck it.