The capital stuff shifted my mindset for a bit. Sickening was the rage felt. Watching traitor flags inside the building and good ole Buffalo Bill who deserved to be skinned. Only eats organic food (Eye Roll) I’d just let him starve if he doesn’t like the day old muffin bottom and splash of water I would give him. Now I have that off my chest……
One shot down and one more to go for covid. Work requirement that I would take gladly. Have come a long way since the beginning. My first test was an experience. Now I get tested every single week. Its not a big deal and it is smart for where I work. However, I am hating myself for even talking about it, it makes me want to look in a mirror and eye roll myself.
My inspiration is odd right now. My creative writing is off, several things put in all places, like this blog. I really want my next book done with the first draft by St. Patrick’s Day but that is looking gloomy thinking about it. However, there is power in these words, but they are lacking my length requirement I usually do…..I feel the world will readjust with me. Before Covid, I had all the inspiration in the world. When locked down hit I summoned every drop out of me over the course of several stories most of which have never been read by anyone other than the people who send me rejection letters.
My last post was meant to be a joke. (Maybe) I think everyone got it, but with weird events that occurred after I posted it, I have to admit I was a bit paranoid. I have a love/hate for a good conspiracy. Invested in the story but always study with a skeptical mind. The fact that millions of people believe a lot of it to be real is hilarious! It is actually sickening to the average person, but my realist identity allows me to step back with popcorn and Junior Mints as I watch the world burn.
So many mysteries to solve. Why does my subconscious haunt me when I sleep? Showing weird dreams of people and places long gone. I don’t believe I have thoughts on these things in the wake. All those old wounds sting again over thoughts long forgotten. These weathered wings do not need broken bones. Leave me at peace as I fly through the fallen.
However I feel my lack of inspiration is out there somewhere in places I can find trace amounts of true freedom. Maybe it is down by the ocean? Give me my second shot. It is time to go!
Conspiracy, mystery, nightmares, and lack of inspiration. Details and clues to a fallen wake, shredded in ribbons tasting of blood and candy, drizzled in dread and a dose comedy to remind you it all means something on the days you would rather drowned in a book rather than any place else.
But that is not true.
Does anything I have written make any drop of sense? If it does please let me know, this is just how I write. I never speak this way (I think) if I did I would just sound fucking crazy. I think I understand Alexander Supertramp, even though it was a wrong dream and needed more knowledge before hunting that moose. Clearly nothing about it worked, the world moved on, it always moves on, and if the rest of the world can’t except that….well then shut the hell up. Dead opinions stay with dead men.
Grow and learn. One of the many truths of the world. Along with, not putting ice cubes in aged scotch.
One last thing. Do NOT seek some vanity from social media. That is such a eye roll it gives me a headache.
(Tyler posts all of his blogs on social media for the 2 people that will actually read them, the rest are read by complete strangers)
In The Spider's Web 