Rant

considering the inanity of writing a poem without any idea of a subject to write about has not deterred me from blindly filling the first sentence with words of little or no value. Now that the fingers (two) flicker over the key board as if they know where the letters are, I become relaxed and so confident that eventually I'll reach coherency enough to delete all this conflict of four muses dancing through my head at once. The music is madcap enough for me to recognize the bag pumping arm of Harry the Hairy, which reminds me I neglected to clean my gun today after emptying it twice yesterday on the target range. Fruitlessly I bet if I'd hit it I'd have cleaned that gun by now. It was all a ruse to keep me away from the house while guests were arriving for my belated surprise birthday party. On roars this epistle of fruitless furious endeavor to construct something worthy of my fantastic literary expertise. I have totally given up on trying to upload the three or four poems I've recorded in spoken voice on the Garage Band section of this Mac and switched over to the i tunes section after hours of unsuccessful attempts to do so. Only to discover that Evoca wants some other form of technical language to upload them in. Learning to sail, drive, operate several large pieces of heavy machinery, raise children or watch them grow up into almost perfect examples of American womanhood, is of absolutely no value in recognizing which button to press next. There must be an almost teen wandering by who can do what I need in seconds but as soon as he realizes how inept I am he'll tell the world and my reputation of competency will be shattered for all time, and we do have to live here. I shall probably come up with some semblance of treachery to combat this newly developed inability. Maybe something like I prefer to stay in the traditional misty romanticism of pure poetry rather than lowering myself to sputtering into a machine or microphone like some despicable rhyming miming puff daddy rapper tapper clapper where's the money stand up clown. Then again if I should suffer a break through and actually be able to add spoken word to my repertoire, Ill be at another extreme disadvantage in this war of faces. Who the hell do I know who can help me overcome this temporary setback in my illustrious poetic career? I think I'll go back to boat design or stonemasonry. Maybe even write a novel.