Insane Genius, Inane Twit

Now to scrape some of that fantastic wit from the walls of my brain and smear it all over this unsuspecting blog!

Yes, my friends, the time has come for Hex to pick up her quill and take you three levels past ecstasy with her fine tuned words that will make your eyes bleed. Roll up! Roll up! Ladies and Gentleman (wouldn't want to be sexist now!) and watch the freak perform.

Ahem, drum roll please.

Cue applause.

Thank you, thank you! You're all too kind. Now, lets get down to it.

Here I am sitting in my bomb site of a room staring at the beast of a PC and writers block is tantilising dancing around the outskirts of my imagination. The bastard.

Now, I imagine this 'writers block' as a person. A very fat person. Who sits on the source of your creative juices therefore disallowing them to spring forth and went your quill with the ink of imagination. (Oh, I do love poetic imagery!)

Yes folks! The journalist has turned poet. How very bohemian of her. Maybe she'll start sitting in abandoned cafe's and writing in crayola. Then again, maybe not. I only enjoy Starbuck's coffee. Seasoned tastes you see. The crayola thing might work though. Maybe a nice green or red though. Or, one to suit every mood. Green for jealousy. Red for anger or passion! Or passionate anger! Blue for sadness! Yellow for melancholy.

You see, when you're a poet you see the dull sides of life. No, I'm wrong. When you're a failing poet you see the dull sides of life, thus you only write about the dull sides of life.

Teardrops fall from my glass eye.
Alas! a monocle I fear.

This is the stuff only I could think of, isn't it. But hey, I enjoy it and it's a far cry from my old poetry.

I slit mi rist
cuz ma mum said
I culdnt av cake.
Boohoo.

Man, there's so much more to life than this. Ho,ho,ho!
I'm cold. I'm sitting here in my snoopy pyjamas and my legs are cold.

See! There I go again the glass is always half empty!

We can't have that! Fill it up! Fill it up so I can drink it all and feel more of an effect than half a glass. If it's half full or half empty, it still has the same alcoholic content and that just won't do at all, sir.

Heavy eyelids. Sure sign that insanity will claim me soon, before insomnia does. Or is that the other way round? I seem to have lost all grasp of coherant thought. Brava! The girl finally dropped her bag of marbles! Watch them roll away into dark, satanic corners, where naturally she will never find them again.

Ah, she took the blow well.

Patrick. Oooh, when were you going to sneak into these crazy thoughts?
Crazylicious. Is it so bad that I want you? Not an ornament, not a friend, not so much a gentleman but a tool.

Trust me, honey. She only wants dick.

Ahh, well. I tried to tell him but Myspace hints just weren't enough! Plus, he has a girlfriend. Can't compete. Or can I? Split, split in two, by me, by you.

Want, want, want. We're always wanting but never getting. Maybe becayse we don't give anymore. I try and give but no body wants. Ha! I wouldn't want from me either.

Heavy eyes, that has to mean something. Oh! Maybe it's a sign that you really want me rather than her and there is no competition because you love me anyway! Sweet, Merry fucking Christmas.

You know what, Johnny Depp's right. We all deserve to die. Some big plague should wipe all us fuckers out and then the human race should start over. We're all bloody corrupt. Sex, Money, Lies, Dirt.

Where's the love, people? Oh! Not only am I bohemian I'm also a hippie! Fab! Just what I always wanted. Happy fucking new year.

Bed? Only if he's coming with me. I can't sleep alone anymore. Crazy, crazy, crazy. Pillow people. How we love alliteration. I have pillow people, pillows that act like people. Well, their bodies. You can't have a decent conversation with one but you can certainly ride it. Well, it's like some people then.

Exhausted. Eyes hurt, back hurts, heart hurts. STOP THE MADNESS!

So I will and bid thee fairwell.