Write About

Write. Write in the morning and at noon and at night and at 3a.m. on the end of a two-day bender. Write to yourself, write to your estranged parents and your sister abroad, and your resentful brother. Write to former lovers, to an inspirational English professor. Write to your state senator about fracking zones and unreasonable gas prices. Write to John Lennon or Mark David Chapman. Write to write.
Write in your underwear in front of your slowly-soggying bowl of Special K. Write in your shirt and tie before you go to the interview for the job you'll eventually quit. Write in the nude. Write on empty notepads, write on grocery lists, write on receipts from porno shops, write on walls, write on rocks with other rocks next to desolate streams.  Write in every color. Write in blue and black and purple and red and blood. Write in chalk and charcoal and marker and salty tears on dark mediums. Write with a stick in the sand.
Write about the carpet, write about a caterpillar. Write about the dawn of time and Armageddon. Write about all the things you wanted to be but never became. Write about alternative music. Write about writing. Write about death. Write about love and hate and violence and rape. Write about kings and queens. Write about religion and politics and cataclysmic events. Write about you. Write about me. Write about a secret homosexual experience from your adolescence. Write about detectives who smoke pipes and talk like James Cagney. Write about hats and shawls and other assorted headgear. Write about race wars and Southern hospitality and how such a racist part of the country attained such a forgiving trait of identity. Write about loose women. Write about hard drinkin'. Write about forgiveness and charity. Write about being wrong. Write about sharks. Write about serial killers. Write about pyramid schemes. Write about quantum physics. Write about learning to read. Write about irony and satire and plot development and character maturity and proper transitions.
Write in good writing company. Write with your lover. Write with your estranged parents, with your sister abroad, with your resentful brother. Write with Queen II playing in the background. Write with ever-inspirational pizza. Write with saints and sinners. Write with a homeless guy. Write with the bag lady. Write with the dog at your feet. Write with a glass of red or an ice cold beer or a blunt filled with sweet chronic. Write with the forest and the sky and the gnarly, untouched open field that it opens up to. Write with the lone tree that stands in that field. The one that looks as if it were transported from The Shawshank Redemption. Write with the wind blowing the voices of Bukowskis past. Write with friends and enemies and assholes and sons-of-bitches. Write, baby...just write it down.