I'm not writing at the moment. It feels like a lapse of words in a way, almost like I have abandoned, neglected my ultimate need to be a part of the greater circle of creativity. Dryness. Aridity, a newfound state of being. Thirst arising from all of this.
It's quite a scary, empty feeling. Especially because I have been writing almost non-stop for a few months now, mostly August to Feb... And now just silence. The words rotate in a careless spiral in some kind of literary vacuum, waiting for a way to be strung together in a more ordered chaos.
That's when all the cryptic poetry becomes necessary, almost, in a mock effort to alleviate the constipation.
And ramblings such as this one... more mediocre verse and prose struggling to make words look like they know what they're doing on this dance floor, even as they serve only to step on toes and form lumps of lard in the mouth. At least still something to chew on, not so?
Bite. Munch. Chomp. Gulp.
Die. And be quiet.
Local Council By-Elections April 2017
1 hour ago