It’s lost... pretty, flowing words. A last living connection with dead memories, buried in the collapse of time.
It’s over... searching where there is no finding, again and again, repeating the insanity of what does not change.
It’s complete... unacceptable acceptance at the loss... of words, of control, of hope. Yesterday is gone. Today is over. Tomorrow never promised.
So I write.
Copyright © 2011 Bill Friday
Maybe you just need all of us to hold you down and tickle you until you beg us to stop! That'll unblock you! Ha!
ReplyDeleteWOW! I think we write in a very similar way ...or should I say I really connect with your writing ...you are post modern like me....xo
ReplyDeletebravooooo
ReplyDeleteNow, a promise and hope. What's insane about that?
ReplyDeleteOn the bright side: thank god it's Friday :-)
ReplyDeleteI may not be the best at comprehension, but if you can write about writer's block in such a profound manner, I don't think you really suffer from it. But, then again, I may have missed the entire meaning of this because I can be really stupid like that.
ReplyDeleteI don't know why, but I have this sudden urge to make you some milk and cookies and tell you you're going to be just fine. Very visceral stuff, Bill. I like it.
ReplyDeleteBill, I find the best time to write is when I have nothing to say. Because then instinct and imagination take over.
ReplyDeleteAmazing!this is one of the most creative short post I have read.I can relate to this.It is such talent by Bill.
ReplyDelete