Another Day Another Accursed Blank Screen

Another Day...Another Accursed Blank Screen Ma wink'n and blink'n mind nod yet awake, nor insights keen, asper ho hum usual, this (day-glo bull leave me you) after noon, (October thirtieth two thousand and eight teen), mine myopic brown marbled occipital orbs fixate upon a lone blinking cursor - hooping such intense stare will magically glean a divine comedy, or even mediocre shaky spear writ tragedy, none the less letting thoughts glom (cess) pool like into some elusive essence, finding me madly chasing (feebly, lamely, queerly and ridiculously likened to a teen age paramour) intriguing, nattering, and wordlessly spellbinding notion all the way to Abilene, perhaps metamorphosing into a topnotch poem (ska lean), swiftly tailored harried style even out rivaling the best newsy Lake Woebegone fabulist (formerly Nordic European) scribes, that juiced might earn me some crisp legal tender green, yet impetus to write, NOT predicated on ram ping up checking account, which primary queen tis essential money source of mine to pay bills appears extremely lean, and thus apologize if any hint of desperation (PULL EASE pledge to Matthew Scott Harris charity) seeps extemporaneously typing this poetic expression, when financial resources picked bone dry clean, and me fanciful thoughts cannot help wishing for miraculous intervention tub bring, a raft of smiley faces tomb eye gentle mien such as receiving an anonymous bajillion dollars donated (tummy) from tennis scene legend (in her own mind) aery Billy Jean King, whose near exhaustive earnings - at least compared to thy germane mein kampf (accrued during - her mist starry re:us horse sing around) straw berry fields forever hay day with tangerine trees, and marmalade skies completing tennis (tense) backdrop against engendered match with the late Bobby Riggs.