It would be cool to be a writer
So, I think I want to be a writer, however I have nothing to write about. I know I would love a writer life style. I mean lets face it the hours are great, I could just roll out of bed scratch my balls then go over and start clicking and clacking away. It seems simple too: have a thought write it down; if that is not a straightforward train of thought I don’t know what is. The ladies would think I was the coolest shit in the world. I could just imagine how they would oh and ah over that information pretending to be interested as music plays in the backdrop of some lounge in New York.
You know the kind I’m talking about. Your basic rectangle shaped over exaggerated barely lit hallway, with the cool step up (or step down if it’s a really hip spot) to a lounge area with the over sized couches that are the same color of the wall, that are the same color of the bar, that is the same color of the neon light that gentle accents every bottom wall trim and picture frame and sign that says rest room. Basically, the kind of lounge that allows everyone to pretend their VIP. You can almost actually here Puff Daddy in the background going “take that, take that, take that.” Of course there is also the waitress with the tight jeans and black shirt who walks by with that nice little smile that says give me money and go home, so more people can come in and give me more money. Not in a rude way of course, just enough so that you don’t ask for her number but think maybe you should. I can actually taste my watered down gin and tonic that cost eight dollars, but that’s a small price to pay for a writer sitting in VIP trying to impress a girl who could care less.
I’m getting a head of myself, I’m still not a writer and I have nothing to write about. Isn’t it sad how often our mind easily drifts out of reality and fantasy? The reality is the only think that’s dimly lit is this empty room with only the glow of my computer. There is no gin and tonic in my hand and the closest thing to a lady I have here is holding that imaginary gin and tonic…dude the only thing I got is a dell. Well I guess that’s not true either I got my edje-e-ma-cation, I know you think I spelled that word wrong but I didn’t in fact I have an edje-e-ma-cation-al masters degree.
You should see my plantation of books. But don’t worry I’m a good master I let my books practice their own religion and speak in their own languages. Oh yeah forgot to mention that too I’m a minority who is intellectual and young so that tends to make me bitter. Hey! Maybe that’s something to write about, angry black man stuff can always get some attention. Not sure if that’s the best angle though lets see: What is high? What is higher learning…? Wait Singleton did that already, not to say it’s still not needed anymore. I mean we are only one generation truly out of segregation in a visually obvious way, dam it I said I wasn’t gonna be angry black man. All right think happy thoughts. The problem with that is that I don’t want happy thoughts I want to have writer thoughts. What does a writer think about? Maybe there is a web site I can go to www.whattowrite.com I bet that would help me out. You have to admit that information wave is a good one to be on even though the more info you know the angrier you can get. Oops there I go again being angry again. I should stop speaking angry I can just imagine my grand mother telling me: ? Por que tu hables haci cunado tu tienes mucho? Did I forget to mention I’m Latino too. You see I’m what you call a triple threat Black, Spanish, and Knowledgeable. I also always fit the description, black male around 6 feet tall medium build between 18-30. I don’t mind that last part though it reminds me that I’m not alone. Wait what I’m I talking about I am alone…alone in this dark room clicking and clacking away. I still don’t know what to write about yet but I’ll figure it out. I mean if I don’t who’s going to be at that club. Dam I can’t wait to be a writer, if only I could find something to write about.
April 26, 2006 at 3:16 pm
What is normal? What is alone? Would you be “alone” even if you weren’t a triple threat arrest daily…say a caucasian male? Neverming being in that 99th height percentile.