Cheap.

Lately, I haven't been able to develop any posts out of my own thoughts, so I figured I could share some things from others who have done what I couldn't. Luckily, I feel that their work serves as a muse to me. Hopefully you'll feel the same!

personal literature

I found this article in the new Adbusters Magazine by a fella by the name of Cliff Webber.

Writing is the most beautiful creature I have ever met. She has long legs and full, sultry lips that purse most delicately when mouthing the letter "Q." She pulls me toward her mercilessly. she kisses my neck and my chin and my lips and as soon as she slides her tongue into my ear I forfeit all control. She is an incurable disease in an incurable world. I'm not sure when she first sauntered my way, but she made it very clear it was anything but a one-night stand. I wanted to see her again the moment she left. I wasn't sure why and I didn't care. Her perfume lingered for days and I remember sniffing my pillow every chance I got; slamming my nose so deep into the sheet I nearly popped out the other side. She was this wonderful new drug and before I knew it i was a junkie. there was no rhyme or reason to her visits, other than her uncanny ability to show up during most of my self-destruction. Sometimes I wouldn't see her for months and I would start to think I had driven her away ... but she always returned, and she always looked gorgeous. She hangs around more often these days, in fact, she's lying in my bed right now. Her hair hangs below her shoulders as her bangs cover her eyes. She blows them out of her way and pulls the sheet down, reveling her painfully perfect figure. My knees clatter as she steps towards me. How am I worthy? She runs her hands down my chest and I get a waft. Just before she sticks her tongue in my ear she whispers so gently "never stop writing." And then I come.