If you have nothing to say, say nothing, and by nothing I mean lots of nothings, piled together until it becomes absurd to say, hey, look over there, look at that pile of nothings. It’s always good to start with a thought even if you don’t think that thought could possibly take you anywhere—that’s assuming, of course, that you want to go somewhere, which, I’m only too happy to report, is a bad assumption in this case, seeing as I have nowhere in particular in mind, and even if I did, I don’t think these ramblings would take me there right quick.

We should force people to wear dark orange clothing; I’m thinking of a rusty color, the type of color that begs you to run your fingernails across it in the hopes of peeling parts of it away, the thought being that there must be something worthwhile underneath it. Think of chocolate bars with their silvery covering. Think of wrapped gifts with their papery film. Think of the browned skin of the dead duck.

“Tyrellery!” she screamed, not knowing what she was saying or why she was saying it, the voices long since having taken control to the point where she was not even sure she existed separate from their sounds. Once again, I find myself starting a sentence with a made-up word. I’m reaching, trying to exercise my forgotten creative muscles. It’s been too long since I’ve sat down for more than three minutes to write. Not that three minutes is not an exacting time (so says the double negative man). You can do much in three minutes. I, on the other hand, cannot.

It’s good to talk bad about people in front of them. It’s not so good to talk bad about people behind them, unless you can keep them distracted long enough to run away. To judge people, I always think of that as not so much talking bad about people, but about sharing truths with the world, pointy dangerous truths, the type of truths that are shared for the betterment of the other peoples, i.e., the peoples that are me, who hope that by belittling others, my own self worth will increase. By now, trust me, I’m worth millions.

My doodles of late have been a cry for help, a cry to sit down and get back into this letter drawing. Not that this is much of an effort, but some words are always better than no words, similar to how the pile of nothings are better than, well, nothing.