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Published July 01, 2012 More Info »
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Published July 01, 2012

I hate it when I suffer from writer’s block. I am just sitting there at my computer with a Word document open, waiting for inspiration to strike, but then I realize there’s a block of wood on top of my body, suffocating my creativity. You may think I’m trying to be witty by saying that, but I'm not (even Dunning and Kruger told me I suck at metaphors). There is literally a huge block of wood on top of me and I think I’m about to die. I am a lonely little writer person with no published work or credentials and I spend all my time alone because I don’t have enough self-esteem to maintain friendships/erections or be considered a functioning member of society. Nobody I met in my life remembers my name or where I live besides the UPS man who delivers my adult diapers disguised as a bulk subscription to Us Weekly that I had arranged with my pharmacist.

 

Well, on the plus side, I suppose this will make for a thrilling end to my autobiography! Most of what I have so far is stories of me losing consciousness from panic attacks when my phone rings, which usually just happens to be collection services calling about my student loan debt I never paid off since I dropped out of college. But I fear the worst of friendly conversation nonetheless. Mostly I just want to commit to one writing project I said I would before I die. My english professor once called me a talentless, pedantic piece of shit with less purpose than a mentally unstable latino homeless man (don't know why he added the latino part) and that sort of halted my ambitions for a time. But I hope the contingency of this moment will shake me from that moratorium.

 

I really don’t recall how this tree trunk landed on me. Kinda just fell in from the ceiling all the sudden, crushing my larynx and severely inhibiting my brain function due to lack of oxygen. You know, on that topic, I never really believed in any of that near-death experience hodgepodge these people in hospitals or car crashes or whitewater rafting accidents come up with as they recount their traumatic experiences. Obviously when you’re on the brink of death your brain will conjure up some extravagant image of whatever you believe the afterlife is like to make you feel better about the fact that you’re going to die: a beautiful sunlit field, a magnificent waterfall, budding trees and flowers in a wildlife preserve, licking rice pudding off of an elderly Korean woman’s tits...it’s nothing more than a clever mirage, an illusion of the conscious mind slipping away. Personally, I’d like to imagine the scene of a mystic underworld. I always took a fondness to Greek mythology. I even wrote a paper on the sexual-masochistic dimension of Hades' psyche but my TA commented that "the disney animated film Hercules was more enlightening than this retarded-eight-year-old prose and I am compelled to ask if the author even has the ability to last more than twenty seconds into foreplay without prematurely ejaculating all over his presumably homosexual partner."

 

Oh, did I mention I can still reach my keyboard to type? Perhaps I should call an ambulance. You wouldn't happen to know CPR, would you? I suppose you’re just an average reader with no medical experience, although I honestly have no idea what my demographic would be. My lungs have pretty much siphoned off all the reserve oxygen left inside them. It's quite an uncomfortable experience not being able to breathe, wouldn't you know? But, getting angry at the situation would be a shameful act of selfishness. I should gather my last resolutions in order, make peace with the world, wait to remember my life in a series of flashes before my eyes. I’m seeing a blank computer screen, some moldy tomatoes at the grocery store that look frightening, a burly man punching me in the face and taking my wallet, some bran flakes, me crying alone in a bathroom…

 

 

construction worker who found body and this document: at this point he seems to have died from suffocation. yeah, he looks pretty dead right now. we probably should have hired those professional guys to cut that tree down from the lot we were working on next door, but i mean who's really gonna miss this guy? He looks pretty gay.

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