Here we are again. The blank white page, electric as an eye and trained on me. Blasphemous and oversexed, HAL 9000's square cousin. Almost unmarked; there's an underlined title but nothing underneath. The onboard spell checker doesn't believe I've spelled two words the proper way. Heat in the fore brain.
So the obvious solution is WILDCAT. Wildcat. Bwow. The deep well I can toss whatever I want into. Get the words to pump out. I'm going to walk over to my bed and I'm going to look into one of the magazines. I'm going to flinch from the mascara and glitter spread - close up of eyes - and find some small scrap of text. I'm going to start this thing.
Yes, I know it's fucking hilarious that Tori Amos is singing "Why do I crucify myself," on media player right now. Hilarious.