Drivel. I’m afraid that’s all my writing has amounted to of late. Much of what I’ve come up with has not risen to be anything much, really. Oh, I guess the lacing of the words and punctuation is competent enough, but what if those words don’t really mean anything - or at least anything new. So much of what I’ve written, with a couple of notable exceptions, has just been more of the same. I am still crawling inside my head, but I keep exploring the same old places.
I’m not sure this piece will hold much for the reader. I’m just a little bit disgusted by what I have been producing here and this might come off as so much wining - creative wining perhaps, but wining all the same. It isn’t exactly writer’s block, but the words aren’t flowing like they once did either. I guess I can force something out - my last post is a perfect example. It should have been allowed to die a natural death - but no, I felt that I had to post something profound. And it was… profoundly bad.
So why not just take it down? Hmmm… not sure, really. I could. I’ve taken down a handful of posts for a few different reasons - lacking literary substance has been among them. But it is always hard to take down even poorly written or conceived posts. Once created, they sort of become alive. However, that is not why I chose to leave a series of less than inspired recent posts up. One reason is quite simple - they fill space. In these lean times, getting any words even marginally worthy of posting is not a frequent occurrence.
But more than the need to fill space, these posts represent a piece of a larger picture. They are part of a progression that, taken in its entirety, shows far more than a momentary struggle. And although the struggle that transpires in these posts might indicate turmoil in my life, oddly enough just the opposite is true. I am entering a new and exciting phase in my life - again. I am in a slow building and very deep personal relationship with an outstanding, intriguing woman. Socially, professionally, academically and in my family life... I sure can’t complain. There just isn’t anything wrong in my immediate world.
It’s just a little bit scary. I mean how long can it last? And do I really need my own personal drama to inspire me to write something compelling? Isn’t there enough contradiction in the world? Aren’t there enough injustices to get my blood boiling? Is there nothing that can motivate me to scream ENOUGH? Or… am I just becoming so jaded that nothing much fazes me anymore? I don’t believe so, but something has got to give. Maybe my outrage must begin with me.