27. A Rant: Why this Silence?


Somehow, I lost my inner drive for writing tonight. Even after focusing on various projects. All I can do is whine. Bitch. Moan. I’m tired of using my journals as a soundboard of depression. As a source of complaints or disappointments. Words should fall down into my lap without restrictions. Beautiful words. Intricate phrases detailing aspects of my life and observations regarding Brendan or Ricky or my parents. About my current reading projects. About the jogger who passed me tonight on my walk. Athletic Achilles. Thick legs. Built like a wrestler. Leaving me feeling old and cliché. My grey beard frizzle and brittle. But what scares me, I cannot create any new fractured lines. The source of inspiration no longer a source of inspiration. It’s not like I was not productive today. Finished a major chunk of the design for a new book plate. Organized more material for Ulysses lectures next school semester. Good material for class discussions and student research. So why this feeling of inadequacy? Why this silence? 


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