Sunday, June 28, 2009
to blog or not to blog
I read fellow writers who actually write, and leave me in the dust with my empty palette of verbiage. I am caught in the knot of words bulging from the stumps of trees. Impressed by haiku, but counting syllables just to make sure. This is old territory; the stomping ground of linguists, where bone is bleach white or decorated with brilliant gemstones. I have moved my table to the other side of the room. I watch now, constant observer of the new twist on the old tongue. "I grow old, I grow old..." I want to mold things with my hands, and keep my mind blank as slate... what I have to say is erasable; a babble-icious destructable, verging on "delete this blog" at a moment's notice.