Re: writer's block -- Unicorn

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Date Posted: 13:05:04 09/23/02 Mon
Author: Dr.P
Author Host/IP: cache-loh-ae02.proxy.aol.com / 195.93.49.8
Subject: Re: writer's block
In reply to: misfit 's message, "writer's block" on 14:56:56 09/22/02 Sun

>WRITER'S BLOCK
>
>Lonely he sits
>Frustration is draining him
>A poet at birth
>A poem written everyday
>A poet like no other
>Then it happened
>Writer's block
>
>Been six months
>Still no thoughts
>No visions
>No inspirations
>The longest six months of his life
>On his knees everyday
>Pleading
>Asking
>Begging
>Praying
>Making deals with God
>
>Ever the tortured artist
>His wants turn into need
>Need into frustration
>Frustration into fear
>Fear into anger
>Anger into hate
>Creativity has abandoned him
>His muse has taken leave
>God has turned his back
>
>Hatred festers inside him
>In a fit of rage
>He rips up his finished works
>Pushes his computer off his desk
>Stomps on his printer
>Kicking
>Screaming
>Cursing
>Then the violence turns to tears
>
>Overcome by a gambit of emotions
>All flowing through him
>Like cars on a freeway
>He walks to the garage
>Finds what he is looking for
>Standing there
>Shivering
>Mumbling
>Sobbing
>Cold steel in his hand
>
>He will show God
>He will take control
>He will murder his muse
>Death for abandonment seems fair
>A crime
>Punishable by death
>He is in control now
>His muse must die
>He will make God watch
>
>He presses the sharp serrations of the hacksaw
>Against his wrist
>The union of flesh and metal
>Numb from frustration
>The teeth of the saw penetrate
>Separating the flesh as if it were Moses
>A sea of red darkens the workbench
>The echoing of the blood
>As it splatters on the floor
>Through layers of skin
>The saw cuts with ease
>
>He has hit bone
>The point of no return
>Numb from hate
>He continues
>The grinding of metal against bone
>The horrific sound it makes
>The screams of his muse being slaughtered
>A clean cut through the bone is complete
>Just the flesh on the underside is left
>The walls and floor are stained
>A crimson hue darkens the room
>The smell of hatred dissipates
>His muse is dead
>
>His senses emerge from their hiatus
>A severed hand upon the bench
>The saw, warm from its completed task
>Scarlet resin covers the floor
>Like a Persian rug
>He retrieves the hand
>Holds it up high
>So God can bear witness
>Look what you have done to me!
>Look what you made me do!
>Tears of anger stream down his cheeks
>Anger turns into remorse
>What have I done?
>Uttered repeatedly
>For what seems like a lifetime
>
>Epiphany
>The lightning bolt
>The bulb atop his head
>It's there
>Its back
>His muse has been resurrected
>She whispers in his ears
>The greatest story he has ever heard
>The mother of all poems
>His masterpiece
>His opus
>
>Then a shiver runs up his spine
>The cold echo of laughter
>His muse
>Laughing at him
>
>Misfit poem
>9/17/02

kind of interesting story ! Liked it.

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