it's 9:01 pm, on April 29, 2005 - allergic reaction.

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I'm at this point where I have a whole bunch of things nearly finished (and have been at that state for quite some time) but none of them feel fresh enough in my mind that I can actually, like, *finish* them. I don't need people to read what I've written in order to feel validation, but I do need some kind of excitement about my output, otherwise I just stare at the screen and wish someone else would write it so I could be the reader.

I still haven't finished the comic book, and the novella I started in like, 1998 is still about twenty pages away from done. I come up with grand *ideas* for things on the train home from work (ie: modern technological roman concubine story; beat poet fanfiction; research student romance novel), but as for actually getting any words out, I got nothin'. it's not like I'm even putting it off, I just don't have anything to say.

is this what writer's block feels like? I've never had it before.

mostly it just feels like all the things in my head are things I don't want to say myself, I just want to read - this is a sign of something, I think, but I'm not sure whether it's apathy, depression, or laziness. I do know that I can't even seem to force myself to write the odd random scene or so. Jack Kerouac tells us to write from the heart, in a trancelike state, and not to worry about why you're doing it - but if I don't see myself producing something that's actually, you know, for something or about something? I tend not to bother. I haven't written more than a line or two in months.

Maybe the portable beat reader is affecting me adversely. Maybe I'm allergic to the free spirit of hobos. maybe, more likely, I've just grown up enough that I've run out of things to say.

~

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moving truck dilemma - October 28, 2015
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bruise - June 29, 2015

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