Five Minutes To Bleed On The Keys.

Can you make something beautiful in five minutes?

I only had five minutes for this one.

She was coming soon.

Shit,

might as well try.

I can definitely make a kid in under five minutes.

That’d be easy.

Sex is a lot easier than writing though.

I could quit my job in less than five minutes.

That’d be beautiful.

I could watch a sunset in it’s last five minutes before hiding on the other side of the world.

Sometimes the pink and orange sunsets in this town are worth seeing.

Pink and orange melting together while being reflected in the clouds,

fading into the dark blue background.

I won a fight in a cage in sixty seconds.

That was beautiful to me.

Most of my shitty writing takes less than five minutes to read.

Twenty-nine years to write

But five minutes to read.

Hemingway said,

'There is nothing to writing.

All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.’

Well Ernest,

I don’t have a typewriter.

I have my laptop and my phone.

And I don’t bleed into them.

I stare at them.

And it drains me.

They took my soul a long time ago.

In a slow process.

So I can’t bleed into these machines.

I can just stare.

And scroll.

And like.

And text.

Connected in the hive of shared minds.

Stuck in it.

Trapped in it's web.

It turns out,

I couldn't write something beautiful in five minutes.

But I could write something depressing as shit.

I'm not sure what this says about me...

But,

Maybe this is what Hemingway had meant.