April Ramblings

Here are two short "creative rants" that I have written within the last week.



No Direction Home (April 11th, 2009)

I worry about you so unbelievably much, but that stoic face tells me that I have better things to spend my time worrying about. It’s not as concrete as you’d like to think I believe it is—the chiseled nods of approval, the eyes carved out of limestone. I am lying against your shoulder like I am because I like it here and because the empty exasperation in your sighs breaks my heart every time they escape you. I know you—you don’t write because it’s cute. You don’t inharmoniously sway to “Like a Rolling Stone” with tears in your eyes out of some glorious life revelation that comes to new light within the subtle twisted twine between Dylan’s barely-there notes. I see it.

and I can’t do a fucking thing about it.



Writer's Block (April 15th, 2009)

I guess the worst time to write is when you need to write the most: the words that mold together to form the fibers of one’s very being pound against an empty skull, the old contents now vaporized when met with the ceaseless heat emanating from an angry heart. It is then that I want my passion and intellect in some sort of equilibrium. In these moments when I cannot escape my painfully visceral state, my right wing fruitlessly grapples at the air surrounding it, beating tirelessly for the purpose of justifying all those things it can feel until all it can feel is plain old tired. The left wing mechanically rises and falls the same distance every time, always to an identical time table. It cannot sense how fervently its partner works to lift me higher and higher, into some state of revelation that one can only pray will eventually become mediocre art. The left wing has a job to do: it stretches as far as it can away from my body and beats on until it is driven into the cold, cold ground.