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mmsiraj
Siraj M.M.
India, tamilnadu, Coimbatore

Words: 368
Access: Public
Comments: 0

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How I decided to be a writer

After reading ‘In Watermelon Sugar’
by Richard Brautigan in one sitting,
(You can read all his books in one sitting.
For instance, you can carry one to the loo
and before you flush you could finish it off.
It helps if you are constipated)
I decided I would be a writer too and write a book.
I think a writer is supposed to write,
although there are lots of writers
who can’t write or wont,
but then that doesn’t make them writers
in the first place.
Once I took the decision to write,
everything started to fall in place.
Characters started knocking on the door.
Long dead memories came floating up
looking like turds in a toilet bowl.
Words like gremlins took over my life.
Words sharp as rapiers that cut through skin and bone.
One lout of a word even bit me on my ass.


So much for words.
Worse comes to worse,
I could sodomise the Random House Dictionary.
Here bend over, Dic.
Spread them pages wide.
My fingers flick through the pages,
probing for the right word.
Right, hold it there!
This is where I come in.
And so on and so forth as Mr. Kurt Vonnegut would say.
That reminds me,
you could look up his asshole if you have a mind to.
In a nice book called ‘Breakfast of Champions’

Words I could always get a handle on.
Grandma was the problem.
A real pain in the ass.
Figuratively speaking that is.
Sits there with a wart on her nose
and a toothless grin saying don’t do that,
don’t say that.
Mind your tenses.
Don’t mix your metaphors and so on.
So I took a gun and blew her away to kingdom come.
Boom!

Reality sucks.
It’s snort in the nose,
smelly armpits and shit stripes on your sheets.
It’s hemorrhoids that act up and antacid pills.
Its falling hair and bones that creak.
It’s the pain in your head that hurts something fierce.
Its nerves struck up tight like a trip wire.
It’s going around in circles with a whopper of a hard on.
Reality.
I don’t need that mother no more.

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By mmsiraj

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