Eternity with black ink

Words. There is this compulsive fixation on the letters of a sentence that I can't seem to get around. There is ADD in my head that breaks the boundaries of modern science and compells me to do ridiculous things. Sometimes I stop myself and say, slow down and back up, turn around and jump up, half twirl, round the back with a double swiss backflip. The pot is sizzling with fiery anticipation. My massive pupils are open so wide that half the room gets sucked into the abyss. Two heavy buckets of eye juice spill under the pressure and my papers become soggy. The ink runs down in perfect circular patterns to make three disinct and beautiful letters.

There's this "p". In my head I'm saying praise, people, pirates, panick, puke, party, play...etc. This goes on.

Then I see "h". Fuck "h". H is that piece of unknown ground material in your shoe that you anticipate removing all day but ignore for just another 5 minutes, just another 5 minutes.

And then comes "i". I! What the fuck am I going to do with an I.

So I realize my false sense of artistic need to write and do and say what's necessary to convey to the people that life is a joke and everything we live and breathe for is meaningless in the end is really just an infinite manifestation of the bullshit that's pulsing through my veins, pulsing and throbbing and breaking the skin onto my soggy lined paper.

And this goes on, and this goes on, and this.