When it Rings Will You Answer?

One and One and One is Three

Slowly the Pen Touches Paper

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When was the last time you sat down with a pen and a piece of paper? I could not even begin to remember when the last time I did was. I used to have notebook after notebook filled to the brim with ‘writing’.

Luckily I cannot find any of them. If there is a benevolent being out there, they have been destroyed. There was not a complete thought through out a single one of those pages.

It was a cluster-fuck of angst ridden drivel. Line after line after line about how broken my heart was when I hadn’t ever been in love. Not in the real sense of the word that is.

Any one who knows me, knows that I fall in love with just about every pretty girl I meet. One look. One smile. One mention of how she loves ‘Deja Entendu’ and I am smitten. If she picks up an acoustic guitar and sings in a soft, angelic voice? Well, I might as well drop to one knee right then and there.

To quote the Weakerthans, I am and always have been, “in love with love and lousy poetry.”

However, I seemed to decide one day to just stop writing. Maybe I was tired of my own whining. Maybe I was tired of writing for no one but myself. Maybe I just wasn’t very good. I’m not entirely sure.

It wasn’t until recent bouts of insomnia and boredom that I decided to give it the ol’ college try and pick back up where I left off. It turns out that the main reason I stopped appears to be a severe lack of talent and a cavernous void of original thought.

So, um, mystery solved.

Meh. Win some. Lose some.

Love always,



Written by josiahh

August 30, 2011 at 9:32 AM

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