kdotdammit captures the frustration of the writer submerged in wasteful duties and limitations imposed by others. Time ticks away like water running down a plughole as hours are spent mired in unproductive drudgery which seems designed to drag one down into exhaustion and depression, closing off space for writing or thinking.
Perhaps this sort of text of shattered fragments is the best way of expressing and overcoming the contradiction of writing about how it is impossible to write. KDD's images of abjection and violence embody the rage I also feel towards the barrage of daily tasks and worries restricting my vision and obstructing my imagination.
The question is how to resist and still survive, how to break out without breaking down?