The “ Thing”

 I see myself sitting in a chair,

looking at the screen the way

I have for so many years, the same

routine, schtick, manifestation of a

minor player in a drama complicated 

seven billion times, not including the

extraterrestrial extras that slide through

the scenery. Nothing that I said was new…

nothing that I wrote was original. It was 

all the echos of vibrations of previous 

words that have been cried for 

millennia, songs that have been sung,

lauding the wonders of life.

I couldn’t help doing it…

it wasn’t even me…it was…

the “Thing” inside me, 

trying to get out.