Saturday, July 28, 2007

There's something about me

By now you will have realised that this blog is very up its own arse (ass, for you colonials).

Here, I only write about me, the me that is. It's cheap therapy for me. I get to write (talk) shite for no cost.

But, occasionally, I will break out of my navel-gazing (take my eye off the microscope in my tummy button) and write about something outside the endless introspection.

And you know what - it all scans, it has a certain rhythm, a broken pentameter (because there's five), that makes the words move over themselves until they trip over the end of the sentence; the full stop. And I can break that with the opportune injection of a semi-colon; like that.

And then I'll stuff an out-of-place conjunction in a place where some other word should be. And. But.

But it's narrow in its service to the whole, the accelerating grammar of (something).

See what I did there? No?

Listening to Elvis now. You were always on my mind.

If I made you feel second best.

Tell me that your sweet love hasn't died.

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