Thursday, April 3, 2008

NaPoWrMo #3

Ah, what the hell, let's call it a poem...

Why I Write

I'd like to say I write because I have something so profound to say that it would end conflict, solve global warming, and cure disease. Yeah, if only. I have no such altruistic expectations. I'd like to say I write because a pen fits perfectly in my stigmata. But that's not true either. No, I write primarily for attention. That's not, of course, the only reason I write. I also write to untangle the disparate threads of my experiences to create a narrative that allows me some kind of cohesion to hang my sanity on or, more precisely, I write because I'm psychologically damaged enough to think that I can. I write as an excuse to drink. I write so my keyboard doesn't get too comfortable. I write as proof that I'm not yet dead (but if I was dead and I could still write, I'd be a zombie, and how cool would that be?!). I write so I have a place to put all these pesky words. I write because I find solace in clearcuts. I write so I won't kill—again. I write because I like the feel of wind in my hair and the lure of the open road—oh, wait, that's drive. I write to chase that damnable flashing cursor across the page. I write because I want to meet Oprah. I write because I like it when people ask, “whatcha writing?” I write so that I can tell those people, “none of your business!” I write to bury my ghosts, but they're ghosts so they never stay buried for long. I write so, someday, I can get away with wearing a cool beret and turtleneck. I write because the way blank pages mock me really pisses me off. I write because if Dr. Phil can have his own TV show, I should be able to write. I write because Nabokov would've wanted it that way. I write because my parents wanted me to be a doctor (that'll teach you mom and dad!). I write in lieu of a real job. I write because if I stare at the monitor long enough I can see some really trippy tracers. I write to ignore the burning in my...uh, never mind. I write to find out the function of “Conjunction Junction.” I write so my dog will stare at me all day wondering when we're going to play fetch—he's so cute. I write so if there's an apocalypse and the only way to fight off the mutant zombies is with words, I'll be ready. I can write a perfectly good story right into the ground—where it belongs. I write because the need for sappy sentimentality is stronger than ever. I write so I can use big words like antidisestablishmentarianism—and girls really dig that. I write because if I ever go to prison I'll get all the good jobs. I'll write that smile right off your face. I write as the perfect antidote to American Idol. I write because the aliens gave me a choice between that and the anal probe. I write because I need a hug. I write so I can make fun of people who can't read. I write everything down so the detectives will have to dig through piles of paper to find my rotting corpse. I write up one side and down the other...if you know what I mean. I write off language on my taxes and that really confuses the IRS. I write furiously to keep warm. I write because meerkats can't.

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