Do you still know how to write? You, and your once torrid affair with words, what have you become? How long have you been resting in that graveyard of decaying imagination and lifeless inspiration? Why can’t you finish a basic press release? What’s so taxing about writing the what-where-when of a concert that means nothing to you, that it’s been three days since you started writing it?
Are you suffering a rare writer’s dementia that you’re starting to lose things that were once lodged deeply within your soul?
Have you lost everything…even basic sintax end spelling? Your out of your mine, arent you.? Start saying good by now. Tommorrow, youll forgot dot you wear ones a righter. Tommorroww, every ting else wheel banish. Gun. Yew cloze you’re ice end every ting dyes end drops dead. Nuthing else exsists butt you.
Dementia. Solipsism.
