Dear Duane....Playdoh says...

Dude...
Plato said that the uterus was "an animal within an animal," and said that if deprived of sexual activity, it would go somewhere else in search of satisfaction.

So if you see a womb on the side of the road trying to hitch a ride, give me a call…that bitch packed her bags long ago.

FYI: Dear Duane is a diary I am writing for my best friend of more than 15 years…we have been estranged for 2 years and I miss him and want to talk to him so I can be 'normal' me (think foul mouthed 4 year old with Turrets, all tweaked out on Crack, Red Bull and Smarties stuck indoors at Recess for misbehaving).

So I write this diary to him to scratch the itch, NO! not the itch caused by Crabs or The gum disease known as Gingivitis!! The itch of missing talking like I do only when I am around him. (ME english good, me make weirdly constructed sentence whhoo whhoo aahhhha ahhhh)(That's my angry monkey sounds)
Maybe our paths will cross again some day…but until then, I need to be the retarded side of Trish, I cannot suppress her any longer! I have been saving this 'A' game material especially for Duane. It's time to share it, hopefully he finds it one day cause my cheesy jokes will make him laugh till he poops a little or a lot.
For more information and older posts, go here to the Dear Duane page

~I surrender to The Writing Womb~
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The Devil Behind The Woman

If the devil were a woman, it would be her.

An undercover gypsy ready to curse with that cold, hard stare.

Medusa in disguise, black soulless eyes,

Fills me with anger and dread.

Eyes that have no purpose other than to chastise and hate.

Unfeeling, unflinching they look right through me,

As if I never even existed,

As if I were more invisible than air.

Pupils that are permanently fixed into a tight contraction,

Tighter than her hardened jaw and pursed lips.

A low brow, to shadow the infectious, callousness of

Evil and hate that emanate from her Corneas of Hell.

A misery that doesn't even love company but takes pleasure

In destroying me with one blackened look.

As if I belong on the bottom of her shoe and will never be worthy

Of anything, not even her loathsome gaze.

Eyes that haunt me, make me feel so small,

Forever unforgiving, I flinch in their presence.

A need to slap some sense into her, to see me in a different light,

A need to shake those eyes, until they soften for a moment,

And scream at her;

“Wake up, wake up you evil bitch! Aren't you burdened with those heavy Bags of hatred that have taken root under your lush lashes?
It was just a disagreement and so long ago,
Can't you see you are imprisoned by the past?”

I have a need to see the real woman behind those cold hard beady eyes,

Maybe then, I can stop hating her ugly, spiteful, putrid presence,

And start to understand and begin to love, the woman behind the Devil.



Yay! So, the dry spell is over, I am no longer creatively constipated!
Thanks for all of your comments they helped a lot.
A special thanks to these two bloggers:
Rich at Adventures Of A Corn Turtle Hunter and Miss Nikki at Life's A Bitch, you two really inspired me to tap into something that irritates me and for some reason this woman on the island that I know popped into my head and I had to write about it. See, not liking someone can actually be a useful tool to getting over writers block. Actually, it seems that anything that really emotionally revs you up, seems to get rid of creative constipation.

Lesson learned, thanks guys!

For more of my poetry, go here

Devil's Eye Picture by: Brian Frick

~I surrender to The Writing Womb~
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My Rants In Haiku, Because Bitching Is Boring, Unless Done In Poems

Laundry, you suck balls!

Why can't you wash yourself yet?

Call me when you learn

This slow Internet

Makes me scream profanities,

Till I lose my voice

I escaped the wrath

Of Jehovah's Witnesses,

None live in Asia

Thailand, eat my Ass!

Your power goes out daily.

That pisses me off!

The power is out,

My battery will soon die,

What will I do then?

No water, no fan,

No entertainment or Web,

I sit and I wait

It's hot with no fan,

Outside the wind is blowing,

Rest in the Hammock

Cool breeze refreshes,

I don't like writing Haiku

It's too restrictive!

Famished Mosquitoes

Penetrate sensitive flesh

and steal my sweet blood

Fuck you Mosquito!

You raped my skin once again,

Now I will kill you!

Swollen and itchy,

Mosquito bites are burning,

I scratch till I bleed

Hello Mister Sun!

How nice of you to show up,

Just before Sunset!

Ranting in Haiku,

made the power come back on,

My bitching is done!

Score after this game:
The Naked Writer wins 1
Everything else, Nil

~I surrender to The Writing Womb~
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