Despair… The sword is mightier than the pen.
Why is it that I can’t write a lousy ten pages on the reformation, but I can pick up this silly blog writing in heartbeat when the mood gets bleak enough? Despair is the only answer. I have lost my will to write… anything on this putrid topic. I haven’t looked at this page, let alone write for it, in about three months. My life for a cheap essay knock off. I have overstayed my welcome at the university me thinks for I dare believe my preening mind has taken the year off. Is it possible that the drugs and alcohol have finally taken their toll? Can it be that I simply do not have what it takes to be academic? At four in the AM, these possibilities seem very real, and very bleak indeed. I guess there is no shame is admitting defeat. Except in the admission itself. I cannot blame Mary-Jane for tossing and turning in her slumber beside me. I made it painfully clear that my overnight ambition was coming to a screeching halt, and now she is mumbling incoherently about my dilemma in her dreams. As I press the eject button of my brain, others will go down with me I suppose. She’s having nightmares, and her sleep, when she can get any that is, is hardly restful. I’m sorry my love; I have let you down as I have let my teacher down… There is but little else to say except perhaps that I must finish THIS GOD FORSAKEN ESSAY before it finishes me. At least then your bedtime anxieties would not be for naught. But fuck, what do I know of Erasmus and the humanists? What do I know of Zwinglian reformists and their Lutheran slant?? How does one write an essay about a period he is in no way qualified, nor interested in writing about? So many questions, and so few answers. It is a times such as these that I look to the sword hanging from my wall and wonder if there is a reason behind this madness. If I could only shut it all down and rest. I feel as though the pen in my life has run out of ink, and the stationary case has nothing to replace it with except blackened pieces of rubber eraser and pencil sharpener scrapings. Perhaps I can make a collage of Erasmus being butt fucked by the pope. Maybe that would get me a D- and some healthy tips on how to improve my method. Add some chiaroscuro shading, outline the crevice of the theologian’s posterior in red, and maybe add some glitter glue to the pope’s pointy hat. That ought to do it. Gimme my F and lemme rest. PLEASE FOR CHRIST’ SAKE LET ME REST… This banal topic has me at my wit’s end.
TMAC, If I manage to hand this crock of shit in, and you still fail me, I’m going to molest your corpse when you bite the big one, and I won’t use a rubber either. Just a friendly warning. Well… I suppose I should return to reformation purgatory. Those priests better have something insightful to say other than all the pecker waiving that’s been going on. I need a vacation from my brain. Where is the meteor to end all worlds when you need it? Bullocks. Fuck, and I thought KMAC was severely deranged. She’s a liquor injected peach compared to the subject matter that got this guy a PHD. Can you believe that? Fuck, I need a stiff drink.
This is Doofus Maximus, signing off.
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