Ah… what to type. I feel the creative juices laying stagnate and this post is hopefully the preverbal spoon I shall try to stir the pot as they say.
Now for a topic. Hmm… and my musical earbuds as my backbone are charging and I cannot listen to my symphonic manifesto which allows me to throw a match to the kerosene soaked papers wrapped in explosive commentary. I lay in ready mode.
I have nothing to stand behind now. Musical earbuds are fully charged and in place. Pandora has been mounted, playlist loaded… and the topic still eludes me. Is it my musical selections? Is it the placement of the keyboard, the glare of my monitor? No. Its me. My mind isn’t freed enough to withstand the primal pulse inside of me. Hey, perhaps THIS is my topic. The topic of a lack of a topic. Seems a bit anti-climatic and almost a bit sloppy. I guess we will see if this post makes the cut.
I need a connection. Something that I will allow to GET me. I have a lot of ideas about what to write about but see, I have a fatal writers flaw that I will now admit. I worry/care what others will think of me. There. I said it. Those who say that they don’t care one bit are a bit obscured in my opinion. If you really didn’t care even a little then you wouldn’t have adapted a certain set of characteristics that create your makeup you apply everyday subconsciously. My two cents worth. Anyways, I COULD write under a pseudonym and then both gloves are off. I wouldn’t have to worry what others thought, but that is just it. I don’t want to do that. I want writing to change me and I want to grow from it. To me what is the point of doing something creative and not reaping anything from it. It’s just a sedative to me then, like a lateral move, like listening to classical music for sleep and not for appreciation.
So here I sit. Pondering out of frustration.