Don't Ash on My Dash

Why can’t I blog anymore? What the hell is wrong with me. I knew it. I KNEW IT! My inspiration runs completely dry when I don’t feel terribly tormented by my demons, Shelley Mae and Trong Weeblehausen. Yes, I name my demons. I feel like it humanizes them and sometimes I can ask them to leave when I’m tired of their trying ways. Well, I didn’t mean forever guys! Come ON! Where are you?!?!?! Every good and wonderful artist whether of words or instrument or paint has some sort of inner turmoil that makes them so fascinating. Hemingway, terribly suicidal/overall insane. Parallel sentences and vivid, artful expression almost saved him. But not quite. Van Gogh…chopped off his ear. Crazy. Swirling textured paint not adored…Would adoration save him? I wish someone would adorate me. I just made up that word, ‘adorate’…It sounds less cheese filled than saying, “I wish someone would adore me.” That just sounds desperate. And we all know I would never admit to that. Dammit…I can’t think of a good musician that isn’t someone like Kurt Cobain to use as my musician example. Boo. Anywho, if someone would mind shipping my demons back to my…my blog and I could use them. Or maybe people’s suspicions are right. Shelley and Trong don’t want to leave Houston…because it really is hell on earth there. Interesting….