Things With Women.

I have come around, once again, to my sometime obsession with Hank Moody – the fictional god of godless fiction writers. I can’t help it, for very good reasons:

1 – Not only have I still not finished a full piece of fiction, not only am I starting to blame my lack of fictional resolution on the depths of my self-loathing, but, rather than go and work on one of my established (or at least started) bits of work, I have started a new thing, which is:

2 – In the tradition of Moodyness, semi-autobiographical – not in the “similarity of events” kind of autobiographical, but in the “depraved nature of my inner monologue (dialogue)”. And continuing along the same vein, it makes me:

3 – Want to get fucked up, do bad (read: good, read: debaucherous) things with women – or at least with my woman, and sit around in my boxers with a bottle of rum, a typewriter, and a hard-on, and write my little nuts off. Unfortunately, I am currently being a bit of a teetotaller, and hard-ons really aren’t as much fun when you don’t get to do bad things with them… with other people. All of which leaves me in the position of:

4 – Not getting any work done. Which brings me back around to:

Hank Fucking Moody…

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~ by Gethin A. Lynes on August 12th, 2010.

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