Sort of got this writing / creative / expressive energy balled up inside me. But, each time I reach out, rub my fingers, rub the tips of my fingers across my teeth, lips, forehead, the thought is gone with the action. I feel like my automatic quip button is stuck. Like, at the inception of a thought, the thought is lost. Or, worse, turns weird… turns fractured and fissured disjointed and choppy-like… still beautiful, still dear in some way… but weird and befuddled… like the stopping and starting of some Syd Barret Song…… Octopus…. “trip to heave and ho, up down to and fro, you have no word. trip trip to a dream dragon hide your wings in ghost tower…”

Like, at the apex of a really good scene watched on dvd, the pixels get screwed up and slowed down– jumbled and now not worth crap. That’s just how I feel….

Saw the blinding blue sky today (and other days too) and shrugged my shoulders. Looked out the window and noticed the rambling, never ending waltz of the leaves and the wind, and felt nothing. Ok, I did feel something…. I did feel, I did recognize the beauty. But the place where that well spring of beauty once was, sort of feels like a cavernous tomb now… and my mouth…. my heart my throat, a cave, a grave…. no longer a well-spring with water. Wrote a poem a few weeks ago about this feeling…..this very feeling….. Guess old ground gets tilled and new wells built…. in time.

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