Golfball
Love, Long Tailed Tits, Beethoven and Birdsong
Hello. This post is about Birds (Death only gets a fleeting mention).
I was recently told that if you’re struggling to write you should just start writing; as in, literally write anything, just put your stream of consciousness down. So, I tried that and, in the spirit of shameless self-expression (just kidding, there’s loads of shame), I thought I’d share what I wrote when I tried that:
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m doing. I have nothing to say. There’s nothing there. I want to write about a bird that I love but I can’t feel my body. Help. Why can’t I feel my body? I want to be in a bubble bath in the middle of a field of lavender, smoking opium and listening to Beethoven and Birdsong, but I’m hunched miserably over my laptop like a character from a dystopian novel about lower-tier-non-transhumans living in the year 2043.”
That latter thought prompted me to close my laptop and look outside.