Monday 9/7/20
Many times each day on Facebook, I will see writers--so-called writers--whine about how they have not been able to write during all of these months of COVID--it's always something else's fault, never because of lack of talent and drive--and have also packed on many excess pounds. Also the fault of COVID, which I guess to them would resemble a laptop stealing, hamburger-pushing Grimace-type figure. You know, that bulbous purple dude--but fleet of foot, in this context.
During these months, I have written more than in any period of comparable length before--in which I was already writing more--and gotten into the best shape I've been in since high school. How come I could do that? Same COVID, right? Of course, that it is always this way, is why those people will hate and stand against me.
Admittedly, I do laugh--though it's so depressing--when one of them boasts about riding the subway for the first time since February, and their chums hop into the comments to congratulate them, call them brave, and write lines like "my soul kisses your soul."
What a world. And what a sick world publishing is tucked away within the world at large. My soul kisses your soul. For your big, brave subway ride. Hero. Shero, actually. That was written in there a bunch, too.
Here he is. Blob-y G in the house! Saw this on Ebay. It's actually kind of cool. I didn't even realize there was a McNugget Band. This seems fundamentally flawed. I can go along with a singing McNugget--they have mouths (which feels kind of like a poulet-y dentata kind of deal), but obviously they are limbless, which suggests that the McNuggets play their instruments via some kind of alien telepathy. This bothers me. They couldn't have given them little hands? You'd already done the mouth. The eyes. That McNugget on drums looks like he's playing with his dick, which also kind of bothers me, a couple ways, logistically being one. He seems really angry and maniacal. I do not get a friendly fowl vibe off that dude. Incidentally, today is the anniversary of the passing of Keith Moon in 1978.
And I think a lot of the weight is drink-related. People cannot be with themselves. It's a struggle.