Write! I tell myself each day, through the day, at the end of the day. 'Words come back, this is your place, thoughts race up, the gun has been shot. But the half before the white line is empty and the mile after the line is long. Sigh!
So many images floating around, each wanting a word to frame it, but words are hiding away in a distant mountain, or perhaps hibernating, awaiting the spring, or they have lost their track, or the whole map itself, reaching a point of no return?
Slipping from one week to another, in four weeks life is capsuled to form one life running into years. Sometimes little choc chips get sprinkled on the plain vanilla white and the bland tongue experiences some delight, a little life, for a little time, little happiness will help you survive.
So the trinkets of joy left my space, what I thought can be my panacea doesn’t seem to work at all, its like a brand new car at the showroom with no fuel. I distract myself to the extent of creating illusions, and then I get bored, enough to push the earth off its loyal rusted axis.
Ole denims, faded t-shirts, worn out floaters, water-soaked leather bag, a gutter to cross, been a while standing at the edge with tentative conclusions.
I’ll wait for the right lines to strike me
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1 comment:
Your thoughts are already in line. The guns are flaring and the words are out. All you need is the direction and the right story to get you through it. The rest will come through
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