#147

procrastination is the mother of depression and i am her grievous child the pitiful orphan within the robe of the ghost of christmas present with a minnesota twins cap and a beaten down pair of wranglers looking all in all like an emaciated michael moore with some sort of fear transmuted into anger turned inwards then outwards depending on my momentary fortitude looking not seeking running without destination like some uncharismatic forrest gump cursed with a good brain and motivational idiocy setting myself up to be a twenty first century emily dickinson with piles of manuscripts and notebooks and a hard drive full of words at my funeral they will all say who knew that he was a writer and from beyond the grave will shout back i tried to tell you lousy motherfuckers i even sent you scripts to read and i put my music up on facebook and itunes but you never bothered to consume it because who knows why because im a poor self promoter because my humility got in the way of tootin my own horn because shyness kept me from schmoozing the fat cats instead of talking to the shy dude in the corner