... I'm going to reach into my magic hat and pull out another rabbit, but not today. Today is grasping and feeling, but not really finding anything.
I don't know the secret to keeping a blog going when the muse isn't visiting. Sometimes that sea of white is a call to arms, a new world to be conquered, something to be twisted and shaped and morphed in any way one pleases. Something to be blasted and pounded, littered with dots and dashes, and splattered with ink until some shape, angel or devil, rises from the swirling chaos, all the while the writer, hands trembling, chants, "Rise, rise!"
And then other times it is an insurmountable wall.
Today I will not fight. Today I will be my avoidant self and immerse myself in R. Stevie Moore instead.
Ah, Stevie.
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What an image! I can imagine myself climbing the mountain of letters you lay on each line. Writing is like running, and if you use the right ink you might even get high. ;-) Don't get me started on WhiteOut.
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