I'm pretty tired of writing poems that really aren't very good. Poems that don't have the quality to ever be published. Most of my writing this month has been that way, and the sooner I realize my writing this month has been below average, the sooner I'll write poems that are above average. But when this happens I'll have no clue, because writing won't be relevant to my life anymore. Soon enough, I will quit writing, expel any creativity what-so-ever from my life. There will be no more narration. The music will end. Art will imitate life. And with imitating life, art will become a parrot. A squawking remembrance of the past.

I'm tired, really, of writing the same way, the same style, the same bends and turns. I'm kind of tired of writers who repeat their cadence with every new sentence. For something different, read Laughter in the Dark or any Salinger or Thoreau. If you're into that sort of repetition that tells itself I'll do it different later, then read my past posts in August.

Maybe I should explain: "'If you're into that sort of repetition that tells itself 'I'll do it later'" means. . . if you're into a writing style, a specific brand, like a line of clothing items which are different, yet all have the same logo somewhere on them,  if you're into disguises, masks, then there cannot be any change through sweat that dissolves fat.

Anything that talks to itself convinces itself otherwise. Anything that talks to itself convinces itself of something false, usually.

"Anything that talks to itself, convinces itself," said the conscious to the man in a black overcoat.