In general, I like stories. The lines of continuity that slowly evolve from the primordial subconscious never cease to amaze me. I can at once begin writing about toys that catch fire and in the next paragraph, have it devolve into a bizarre tale of peculiar proportions. I always have thought that I would never succumb to writers block. It was not possible. There is always something to write about, or a story that needs to be told. I make up bedtime stories based on ridiculous suggestions without any sort of preparation, so I decided to start a blog.
Lately I have had difficulty playing guitar. It seems like I have nothing to say musically. This new predicament is incredibly frustrating. I sit to write lyrics or poetry, and what I get is a list of things that rhyme with ‘mistake.’ Once it is done, I have written my self into a corner and need to rewrite the entire thing so that it understandable. This is a great time to start writing a blog. The words that used to flow so freely are now a stifled and septic mass of vocabulary.
Inspiration is something that I have always needed, or a person with unrealistic perspectives. I have neither. Both of those things are incredible for my cerebral exercise. The last thing I wrote in my notebook was a few sentences on an angry cow who really wanted to eat hamburgers. I know there is a “Far Side” comic about it, so is that inspiration or the second cousin to plagiarism? This whole post is about not having anything to write, but I guess that is fine since I didn’t really have anything to say.