Constipation

I wish I could write right now, a soliloquy that will send Shakespeare running. But I have not one thought running through my head. Here I am, sitting at my desk, pen in hand, yet no thoughts pour out onto this paper. I refuse to leave until I have a masterpiece. And yet, no steady streams of words, not a trickle, not even a leak. No word stains on this sheet. And it pisses me off. It’s like that bloated feeling you get when you know something is coming, but when you go to sit down on the toilet nothing comes out. Now there’s a word for that, constipation. But in this case I guess it’s brain constipation. It’s kind of like writer’s block, only I know what I what to write about, I just can’t get the words about. Yep, brain constipation. I can’t shit these thoughts for nothing, not even a brain fart. And I think it’s starting to back up. Ideas stuffed up for days. Like when its been three days since your last appointment, and you feel like you’re carrying the weight of the world in your pants (and not in a good way). Yeah it’s backing up it that. And man I want to shit so bad. And not these little 3 stanzas, ABAB rhyme scheme shits, but a monster shit. A 500-800 word bad boy. I want to shit something that has weight to it, a little substance. Something so heavy that when you let it out it sinks, deep into the mind of its listeners. Maybe with few light floaters here and there, tidbits to which to can go back and tell others. Those similes that just seem to skim the surface, floating aimlessly as if with no real destination in mind, but end up sinking deep just like the rest of the thoughts. It so much that when you go back to look at your masterpiece, you’re like damn, I did all this. I want to shit like that, but I’m mad because it can’t. So I get up and leave for a while, try to relax my muscles and come back later. I’ll read some pieces and maybe watch a few performances, try to coax my way through because man do I want to shit these thoughts so bad. I am stuck to this seat, I refuse to leave until I have this masterpiece. I’m not saying that I want the words to flow like diarrhea, but a little ease in the pain wouldn’t hurt. I want to end these pains, because I’m starting to get a headache. And shitting should not have to be like this right? I mean, if you let the body do its job naturally, it should not take all this work. Go with the flow, but when the flowing is taking three days there’s a problem. So I’ll just hurry it along a push. Just push and push and push, but no, we’re not having babies here, we’re shitting. And yes, these things take time as well. So let me think and think and think until I can finally get this poem out of my system. Damn, that was a good shit.

©Danie Rae