Writer's block!!

Now this is insane. It's nearing to...what...two months since I last wrote something worthwhile, and still the world of words has not returned from its extended vacation. I mean, look at this. Here I am, with my beloved laptop in front of me and with my fingers itching to get to the keys, and yet. And yet! There, look at that. I couldn't even get past that "and yet"!!!

Any form of art suffers from a pathological problem of "whimsicalness", if you know what I mean. Now, it doesn't matter if you have the greatest story framing itself in your head. It doesn't matter if the Oscars and the Bookers are all yours for the taking, definitely, truly, if only you could get this one onto the paper. Ah, if only. But it is not in your hand, is it. God has given you the TV of creativity to play and watch while he keeps the remote control in his hands. Just like that loving, annoyed and absolutely useless father who has no idea of the importance of Pokemon. Oh come on!! Don't switch it off!! The fun was just starting.
But no, no amount of pleading will keep the TV on, no amount of pleading will keep the creative juices flowing. Sorry, mate. Guy's gone for coffee. Can't help. Yeah, we all know what a wonderful writer you are, the very best, surely, and yeah, definitely you will make for the "Lifetime achievement award" or something, and as you leave can you please pass me the file and we can do some work?
And so you gasp and sigh and yawn and cry..well, not cry, but figuratively speaking, just to keep the rhyme...and you rant and rage and fume and you get up to attend that stupid lecture course of yours and look at the professor and do the only other thing that is worthwhile in life, which is hoping that the cute girl in the back will fall for you...

And that, by the way is all the more interesting, because there is an awesome part of your brain which claims that, yes indeed, the girl loves your writing, absolutely loves it, and she fancies you, if only, if only you could write that story. Oh, but you are neither handsome, nor brave, nor well-dressed, and in every concievable way you are an absolute asshole, so what other reason, pray, might she have for falling for you?

And that's where you lose hope, and give up, and try to immerse yourself in the numbers and matrices drawn on the board. Such, as Lewis Carroll wanted to say, is Divine perversity....

And such, as I would like to say, is the miserable blog post that arises out of a writer's block!!

Nothing specific...just venting my anger....

To Anger



Flow my lady, with wings of ire
Blackened raven of smothered desire
Flow red hot through my ashen veins
In these contorted times of pain

With bloody flames in this dark dark night
Set afire a million lights
Unsheath your sword of free disdain
Bring your thunder, your unforgiving rain

Wipe this smile upon my face
Bring forth your ruthless craze
Hold my heart in your iron fist
Take me out of this stifling mist

And on and on let your stormwinds blow
Till the lines of change have ceased to show
Till the dust's blown all out of town
And the whole damn paradise has been brought down

And cease not till the world, evil, vile
Has left its bed or ceased to cry
And, if only to seek revenge, the night
Has given way to harsh daylight