Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Not Feeling (It)
Anything is possible, but why is it that when visiting my other house I felt strong vibes, lightening of my muse bathing me in light? Doesn't happen at my present address, in fact it's like living in a constant solar eclipse, missing the really cool phenomenon of ancient cultures. Bricks and mortar shouldn't affect what comes from beneath my skin, but as I walked into my former home its pull kept me nailed to the floor. With it I felt all the good creative juice flowing through the smells, from the windows that still posses the spittle of my best friend. Why does brick and mortar posses a special spell. Has it conjured a curse to follow me where I presently live? Does it hold a grudge for leaving? Did the pool liner malfunction as a way to command its destruction, or am I just waxing poetic because I'll otherwise melt into a puddle of regret? Life isn't supposed to be this difficult. My soul isn't supposed to sit in the dark and wonder why my fingers aren't kicking up some very good prose. But still here I sit with many ideas but not an ounce of courage to spill to the page. Ideas trapped behind the shadowy sunlight of missing splendor. My muse is anemic.