why am i writing again?

because my kids are asleep and it's raining outside.
besides, do I really need a reason?
nope.
I don't.

I had a cool fucking idea for the opening line of a book, today.
on the tread mill.
no, i'm not going to TELL you--are you CRAZY???
or do you think I am crazy?
or is Beyonce crazy (in love)?
i don't know about you, and the verdict's still out on me,
but she is.
at least she was when she wrote or sang or recorded that song.
...am I TALKING???
fuck.
no, moron, no you're not.
you're typing.
and now am I talking/typing to myself in the third person?

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
I guess I inadvertently solved that whole "craziness" mystery, didn't I?

and all of this, just because my kids are sleeping.
hm.
maybe instead of typing inane/insane things I should...
get a perm.
get some sperm?
kill a germ?
STOP RHYMING.

but I do think it's sad that not everyone is walking around with poetry squirming around inside them.
that not everyone feels things in shades of blues and reds and deep, dark purples--
how can they miss it?
how can they buy gum and pay for gas and punch their timecard...
and not notice....
not ache...
not yearn.
not exult.
how can they?
i doubt that applies to any of you reading this, by the way...
but you KNOW there are people out there like that...
people who just don't remember to find beauty around them,
people who are too tired, or too sad, or too empty...
some of those emotions inspire poetry, create deeply etched words.
but some people don't pay attention...
and some people...

eh.
lost my train of thought.
(I guess that makes me one of "those" people. heheeh)