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Slouching on the Couch

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I found this in my notes today and enjoyed it. I’m searching for a voice in my writing. I know that sounds corny, but I want to get better. So instead of censoring what I felt inspired to write, I will just say that there is some swearing in here, if that sort of thing bothers anyone who takes the time to read my blog I apologize in advance. My intent is not to offend you but rather to explore my own writing style and come to you from a place of honesty and integrity. Now that I’m done saving face:

Listening to jumpin’ George

“I come crawling out of my warm sack and hit the street,” says Jack.

Slouching on the couch
Listening to Kerouac read crazy poetry over piano

Trying to find inspiration
My fingers feel heavy at the tips
Blood collecting at the bottom

Vibration from these tiny iPod speakers reverberate against the side of my pinkie

Kerouac is quiet now
The boring old apartment
Is alive

The fan twirls
Shadows dance across the ceiling

An owl keeps watch
Over winter boots
On the countertop

The umbrella above
A steel bicycle
The cold fireplace

The constant droning
Grinding gears, fan’s air flowing
Never silent drone

always intruding
My thoughts

Fake typewriter clicks
Profane content invasion
Saw some chicks with dicks

Weird boards at strange angles
Cheap materials
Living poor living small never sleeping

Squinty face curled up
The shine of the sun blinds you
The clock tics and tocs

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