Friday Evening With A Ten Year Old Mental Block

Valero Street, Makati City

So I’m back. Still lost. Still trying to recapture that fire that made me write like a procreating rabbit all those years ago. Sadly, it’s like slamming over and over again into a brick wall.

So, I said I’ll write and dragged Heidi to the corner Starbucks to go and do that.

Thirty minutes into this and all we’ve done is smoke and throw bull at each other. Ah such is life sometimes, and I still wonder what to write. And why the muse has turned her back on me.

I know there’s a story inside me. Stories rather. But I am not sure what I need to write before I can get what I want out there. It’s like there’s a block. 

The story I want to birth into the world is ephemeral. It is here in bits and pieces, but the glue, the strand to hold it together floats around like smoke.

I’m not sure how to go about it, I’ve tried all the roads I know, and they all are dead ends.

Robert Smith is slow dancing in my head under gloomy lights and fog from a smoke machine. He’s actually singing Pictures of You, streaming straight from iTunes into the wireless Marshall Major II headset I have on.

It’s gloomy and I’m sort of happy. And with all the wanting to write, all I ended up with is brand whoring.

Sigh. End frame, exit stage right and slip on a banana peel.