Ofttimes when I strap my mind to the task of writing, a statement which for me evokes the image of a brain strapped to a rack, seared with the marks of branding, I find (little to my surprise), that I have nothing to really write about. Not really. Nothing ever happens; nothing ever.. really happens. But I do not suffer from a lack of inspiration; the world I live in is filled with beauty in my surroundings and in my friends. No, my real problem is my memory. You see, when I was a child, I was dropped on my head. No wait, I dropped my brother on his head when he was a child. Well, I'm sure that I was dropped at some point, a fact which manifests itself in that I can't remember such a traumatic event as being dropped. But to return from my tangent, which would be better described as a case of mental vertigo, my memory is officially on the fritz, which translates the pretty muchly all my incredible ideas leave my head with the realization that yes, there is a butterfly flitting aimlessly past my person. It would seem that a butterfly aimlessly flitting would be a good analogy for my mind... Unfortunately, the true victim of my memory is not me, (I can't remember I have ever been wronged at all) but, in fact, you. Instead of reading my ideas which I pick unrightfully, ripe and fresh, from the tree of Hesperides, you read the day old microwaved macaroni and cheese. Sorry guys, my mind just can't retain this kinda stuff. It's like a sponge that... doesn't hold water. That analogy fell apart on me there.
Adieu,
Kevin Magoo
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