Inspiration. Right in the Head Hole.


“I’m your imagination! I’m here to inspire you! I bring to you giddy visions of the delicate and spectacular tendrils of narrative and prose that bind our universal consciousness!”

“What the..?”

“Originality! That is the gift I bear for you my keyboard battering friend!”

“Your claws are kind of hurting my scalp…”

“Mere discomfort brother! It is but an inconvenience you must endure so that you may enjoy the blessings I bestow upon you! I dig my razor sharp toenails into your skull because I know we must never be apart! You need me my boy! Oh, you would be lost without me!”

“Who… what are you?”

“You don’t recognise me? I’m your imagination my simple minded, brain damaged friend! I bring you giddy and spectacular visions of narrative tendrils spiralling majestically through…”

“Could we maybe do this later when..? Ouch! Your claws are really super sharp. Look, I’m sorry but I’m kind of busy…”

“Busy? Busy? Busy? Busy? Busy Busy? Busy? BUSY???

“Yeah, like we can do this later when…”

“BUSY??????? BUSY????? BUSY BUSY BUSY BUSY? busy..? BUSY??”

“I got to finish this blog post before…”


“OK. Get off my head!”


“Oh fuck! I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”


“Sorry! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, imagination.”

“My liver… you’ve ruptured my liver bag. Oh you sadistic big bully cunt.”

“I’m so sorry. Are you OK? I was just trying to get you off my head. Your claws really hurt and…”

“Everything I’ve done for you. This is how you treat me? It’s not my pulverised internal organs that hurt me the most. What hurts the most is that I come to you, with love, with nurturing… with… giddy fucking visions..! – I’m sorry… I don’t want to cry. I’m alright. I’m alright. Breath! Breath! I come to you every two or three years and give you great fucking ideas and you just tell me you’re too busy! You’re too busy? You’ve written three paragraphs in the last two weeks you scrotum!”

“Shut up! Shut up!”

“You’re the problem here, sonny jim, not me! You empty headed primate! You social media whoring banana hammock! You worthless mediocre hack!”

“Stop it! Shut up! I’m a talented artist! I have important things to say! I HAVE IMPORTANT THINGS TO SAY! *Sob!*”

“Hey, don’t cry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Hey you know I love you. You just make me angry sometimes. You shouldn’t make me angry, buddy. Hey, come on. You OK? Come on, its me. You OK?”

“I guess so… You’re so mean to me sometimes.”

“Cause I love you. OK? I only manipulate your self esteem because I love you and I really care about you. OK? OK?”

“Yeah… I know. It’s just that when I’m trying to work, sometimes you…”

“What? What?”


No, no, if you’ve got a grievance it’s better to get it out. Let’s deal with this like grown ups. This is good. Healthy.”

“Well, sometimes when…”

“Good healthy dynamics. OK. No, you go. I’m listening to you. You have my ears. OK? I’m listening to you. And I’m not just gonna listen, I’m going to HEAR you. OK? I’m going to HEAR you. You understand the difference?”

“Sure. When you hear as opposed to just listening that’s…”

“Because I am very interested in what… you… have to say! So I am going to listen… actively… and with positive intention.”

“Great. Um… yeah… So anyway, sometimes when I’m working, not all the time, but sometimes, um, and you come over and sit on my head and er, dig your claws into my head, it’s… it’s a bit distracting. You know?”

“Oh my goodness. I am a bit embarrassed right now. I am just seeing something that’s been a pattern in our relationship, and it’s only just this moment I’m seeing it for the first time. I’m distracting you. I THINK I am pouring my whole being into selflessly giving you whatever I can to make your writing better and just generally making you a more happy inspired person, and all this time I was actually being an annoying jerk. No, see, I get it now. Wow. I was so uncaring and selfish this whole time, like, cutting off my own creative limbs and serving them up to you on a platter like so much luncheon meat. Just like, force feeding you my soul. Just like, pulling apart my own being and chopping it up into tasty little bites and feeding them to you. What an asshole. I’m an asshole aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not an asshole, just sometimes maybe your timing is a bit off, that’s all. I love you, imagination, but sometimes when I’m in the middle of writing something, you’re a bit distracting. Like, you give me really nice inspirations sometimes, but like, you know the old cliche: 10% inspiration, 90% perspiration… Like, I need time to just focus and get the words onto…”




“Oh, come on, no…”


“I can’t write another story about titties! OK? I can’t! That’s all we’d ever write about if it was up to you! Please, I need to focus! I need to write stuff with… meaning… and complex themes!”

“Meaning?! Complex… I’ll give you complex themes! I’m gonna put my complex themes so far into your head you’ll get two black eyes!”

“Ow! Ow! You’re hurting me!”

“Shut up. You want inspiration? You want it? Huh?”

“Not like this. This isn’t consensual…”

“That’s it baby! Open that mind! Wide open! I’m gonna give you a big fat load of complex themes right in your ear hole, boy!”

“AArrgg eeeeewwwwwwweaaarg fhhhhhh….!”

“Feels good huh? You love my big thick themes in your skull burrow don’t you? I’m gonna pump you full of unconventional analogies and half plagiarised profundity! Here it comes boy! Right in your head hole! Right up inside your thinking organ!”

“eaaaeeaeaeeaaaaaaahahah aeeeaeaaaaeeee….!”

“Take it babay! Oh yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Feel my inspiration inside you, primate boy! Whhhoooooooo-haaaaaaaa..!”

“Are you going to spend the night at least? Ow! I’ll make you breakfast…”


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