Blank Sheet of Paper

Some writer once said that writing is easy: all it is is staring at a blank sheet of paper and waiting for drops of blood to form on your forehead. Writing has never come easy for me. At least the true heartborn writing I long for. This is the nth time I am writing something like this. What do I call this, this writing about being unable to write. This navel-gazing. At least it puts the black on the white page. It’s easier if you use a large and bold font. One sentence at a time, as Stephen King, wrote. I should maybe begin by talking about what’s bothering me now, what has been holding my attention these past few months and weeks.

It’s politics. As usual. The National Elections is only now just a week away. There’s this quote about how the most antagonistic folks are those who once truly believed. Well I found myself in this position with regards to this one candidate. He just seemed different at that time. But now a lot of information are coming out. And they ain’t good. It basically paints him as the same, if not worse than the other candidates he is in competition with for the Throne of the Land. Houses and properties and millions, most undeclared. Gifts and favors from powerful friends. All that boring commonplace traditional politico behavior.

But what really turned me off, what made me jump off the bandwagon earlier than most is the inability of this candidate to communicate straight. He always has to act all tough on this and that, always talking about enemies and evil people. The man cannot express himself well. That’s all that I really wanted – to hear from him all those things that I had mostly agreed with. He failed miserably in that regard. And so I said yep that’s it, this guy is not someone that I should support.

Why am I doing this political analyzing anyway when I don’t even vote? I haven’t ever voted in my life. I did not register and have my data collected and whatnot. My early experience of authority and the dynamics of politicking at the school level totally soured me to the system. It’s just so contrived and manipulative. Is not having ever voted a matter of pride for me? Probably. See me pure and white as the lotus flower.

This is what I consider shit writing. What I really wanted to write was fiction. I had this idea earlier of a boy growing up in a household of metalhead parents. He develops a quirk where he starts headbanging once he hears a metal song. Only stops this curious behavior once the song is over. At the beginning, his badass parents are all about it. They encouraged it, was really glad that their son is growing up right in the proper metalhead manner. But then it becomes a condition. The family is walking someplace and whenever a familiar song plays he cannot stop banging his head. Even when they are past beyond hearing range of the song, it doesn’t matter. He has heard so many of these songs that it just plays on in his head. It got to the point that there doesn’t even have to be a trigger. He just starts headbanging and won’t stop for three or four minutes. Or longer if it’s certain songs from Rainbow, Black Sabbath or Led Zeppelin playing in his head. That’s the basic crisis so far. I’m thinking something happens to the parents’ belief in heavy metal. Maybe they’d try listening to softer music like synth-pop or shoegaze or something.


About kara

I just like to read. Used to work in a library. My interests are horror and the gothic imagination, absurd and dark humor, urban legends, and other related unwholesome topics. I write short fiction sometimes. Older stuff:
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