Seeking inspiration in the wrong places

The blank page; the bane of a fledgling writer.
You stare in vain, willing your brain to dredge up an idea that lights up.
But nothing good comes.
So you sit there hollow and numb.
This part of the process?
The complete absence of fun.
When will that inspired concept strike?
As lurid day gives way to turgid night you stare out the window as birds take flight.
But still… nothing comes.
A strange rage begins to engage as you take in that hideous blank page.
What needs to change?
Your environment, yeah!
You need to get out and about.
The pub calls, so you head to the Hare & Trout.

Walking in, expecting a den of deviance laced in sin you’re greeted by tired old regulars slumped over their gin.
Somehow, you feel, this is not ideal.
No feast of inspiration but barely a meal.
So you down a few shots, turn heel and head back wobbly to the street.
Debauchery is needed.
You’re lost in thought as you walk straight into a Bobby on the beat.
In the collison you make a decision that bad things come to those that take definitive action.
So you steal his helmet in an instinctive reaction.
And perch it on your head in distinctive fashion.
The Bobby goes mad and loses his rag, much to your satisfaction.
He goes to give chase but he’s loathe to compete in your foolish race.
So he blows his whistle.

You stop, take aim, and launch the helmet like a guided missile.
It hits him full force, like a hammer and chisel.
You watch him hit the deck.
Imagining yourself the proud victor standing tall as you pin his neck.
He’s old this copper, you could take his gun and really finish this vet.
Dark thoughts swirl now and you’re drunk with power.
If this is the end then you should kick back and smoke some skunk in your final hour.
Then you snap to your senses.
In the street the Bobby gets to his feet, looking like he wants to swing you from the fences.
Like a rabbit in the headlights you’re rooted to the spot.
The image of your boot on his neck makes your survival instincts all but stop.
Then… something comes.

Inspiration blows you away like an awesome and beautiful tidal wave.
Your writer’s block caves and you’re overwhelmed, feeling brave.
The copper now advances as you flip him the bird.
You hurl abuse at him loud to make sure he’s flippin’ heard.
What a rebel.
Tonight was about inspiration and now you’re a red rag to a bull.
It’s like you’ve mainlined Red Bull.
Shots of tequila and nitrous oxide gives you cunning vision like fox eyes.
Chemicals flood your blood stream.
Feeling overloaded, like a mug you scream.
The copper looks nonplussed… as he pulls out his handcuffs.
And despite your bluster and bravado you muster the courage to follow him meekly when he says ‘Let’s go.’
And the next you know.. the cells doors slam.
But you don’t care.
The fire burns inside you, inspiration man. You’re a one-man clan.

Zombie nation

As a nation we stagger about and swagger around.
Content to be part of the crowd.
Our work defines us, you can see by the sweat on our brow.
The bulk of us, we’re computer monkeys.
A cult plugged to our PCs, caffeine junkies.
Then, when released for a brief two days a week we find our feet.
Shuffling slowly at first, our movements broad.
Head to the shops on Saturday to witness first-hand this zombie horde.

Eyes glazed in a daze, dazzled by brightness like rats in a maze.
Neon lights and sales we crave.
Gambling, slot machines, drink, drugs and entertainment.
Once we’re out though there’s no chance at containment.
This zombie nation’s breaking loose.
Causing chaos ain’t no homework excuse.
And as one the horde moves slow.
To look at us we’re an aberration but with nowhere to go.
Seeking deviation from the norm the path we tread well worn.
But it’s fair to say we feel low.

You want to save us?
A noble gesture, but one bereft of good intention.
And as a critical mass you lack invention.
Forming a plan is beyond your comprehension.
So there you stand agape, frozen in a state of suspension.
Like Kryptonians trapped in another dimension.
Unable to steer our fate for fear of reprehension.

But you’ve got to try.
These days, vitality and invention is in short supply.
And whilst you may stand around and ask yourselves why, deep down you know.
It’s a steep mountain ahead but by God you should give it a go.
So wish us luck, this zombie horde.
Least now you understand us.
Finally, we have an accord.

Take the red pill

Feeling naughty, just hit 20 and I’m halfway to 40.
‘You laugh now son, you’ll blink and you’ll be 40’, my dad said, putting unwelcome thoughts into my adolescent head.
Jesus. At this rate it won’t be long until I’m dead, until I’ve shuffled off this mortal coil. Until, through hard graft and toil, I’m laying on a cold slab watching my soul call a cab as my beautiful brain and body spoils and sags.

We constantly joke about getting old because we don’t know when we’re going to go. If we did I’d be betting bold, so at the end of it all I’ve got something worthwhile to show.
Although who I’m showing I don’t know.
If there is a heaven, maybe my only way in is through laying low, avoiding temptation and just saying no?
But where’s the fun in that?
Do you really want a humdrum existence, one where your dignity remains intact?
What would you learn about yourself if you followed that path?

It’s time I hit you with a hard truth and one that will smart. Your plan will fail and not by half, it’ll come crashing down and you’ll sink fast.
Neither heaven nor hell await you but pergatory. A nothingless void.
In this there is no survival, you will be destroyed.

My advice to you?

Take the red pill. It will stick in your throat and you’ll feel ill, the pain will overwhelm and you’ll want to kill but persevere, quitting takes no skill.
As the drug takes effect you’ll once again be able to feel, your spidey senses will tingle as your body starts to chill.
But don’t be afraid or dismayed, you’re just going through change.

Coming out the other side you’re a butterfly, no longer shackled by the past you soar high, emotions hit you like a flood and you roar and cry.
You’re an eagle now you’re free.
All it took was one little pill and once again you could breathe.
In the end, all you had to do… was believe.