Seems to me a blog is about writing your thoughts.
But my thoughts are like school children under the rule of a spinster school marm, who won’t let them out to recess without first perfectly reciting the Geddy’s Burger address. They sit, terrified that she will turn her baleful eye upon them and extend a spidery arm in a pointed finger more terrifying than that of the Grim Reaper.
One of my thoughts just crapped in its shorts, so terrified was it. I guess we’ll never know what it had to say, or if shitting its strides was as good as it was ever gonna get.
Another thought just made a run for it, hall pass be damned, never to be seen again.
Who’s to say that the thought that gets the A is worthy to be seen by your eyes, or if it was just the one most hardened by abuse?
Maybe that thought got beaten twice a day and was told it would never be good enough; that his brother was a better thought than he’d ever be. He got sick of trying to be profound and turned renegade, smoking confusion and getting high on ego. Now he sits in the back of the class in his leather jacket and Jimmy Dean hair.
He’s the thought you’re not supposed to think, the one that leads to trouble. He hangs around with a bad crowd, who bully the other thoughts, laughing at their poetic turns of phrase and lofty ambitions.
You’ll never be prose, you’re only fit for the toilet stall wall!
My daddy craps better thoughts than you!