Melodramatic Demons

Is it possible to scribe any words
 in this day and age
 that ring not of melodrama and  woe-is-me ilk?

Is it not overplayed to quote any  poet
 in this state of affairs
 that doesn't sound trite and  conceited?


Lately, every time I get the urge to run my fingers across the keyboard in some fashion, I abruptly stop myself from doing so. There exists a little man in my head that stops me from forming these ragged strings of words. There is a little wheel that grinds to a halt upon striking the notion of adding to this blog...thing.

Ambivalence. At least from my understanding, is the word that describes what my head is brewing up.

I want to chronicle my thoughts and ideas. I want to be able to look back in the future and see what a terrible writer I was. Perhaps, in this possible future, I will consider myself a much stronger author. Regardless, I constantly stop myself from sharing the quotes and ideas that I find enlightening or fascinating.

Constant is the idea that I'm seething a putrid and pompous persona of myself. I feel as though I'm being melodramatic, all the time. What is this "black dog"? Do I even have a right to use the phrase? I want to characterize my demons and cast vivid imagery of these diabolic and metaphoric... things...

Do I appear as some beret-wearing, mascara-sporting, poetry-regurgitating beatnik of-a-sort? This there is no definite answer for. What's next for me, I think, is some somber form of interpretive dance or perhaps maybe some overworded, complicated, "artistic" monologue I act out naked on a stage.

It's art! I scream. Soak it in you thespians!

I don't think anyone really wants to watch me beat this long-dead horse anymore. Hell, even I'm growing tired of this trope. Part of me feels like I have more important ideas and concepts to try and elaborate on than those of people that just hashtag everything. Nothing gives me this right. I feel dirty and egotistical for thinking this way.

So here I sit, on my high horse.
I'm also beating the horse.
Understand that it's a high horse, but it's also dead.
I'm also forcing the horse to listen to my monologue about philosophy and a black dog.
Poor horse.