on songwriting

writer's block is starting to set in for the first time in almost 6 months and panic lead to a cigarette break which lead to me realizing that when i can't write anything, it's because i'm not being honest with myself about my state of mind, of being.

i'm ignoring responsibility. i'm ignoring heartbreak. i'm ignoring possibility. i'm ignoring disappointment. i'm ignoring failure. i'm ignoring success (towards progress and vice versa).

ignorance has left me in limbo and i think that's all writer's block is; self defeat before a concrete thought is formed.

does that make sense? hmm... shut it down.

but maybe i deserve that for a little bit. well, at least it's a good excuse to smoke a few more and drink a few more before blindly passing out on the deck.

My Personal Marxist Philosophy

"These are my principles; if you don't like them, I have others."

~ Groucho Marx

revision

"I hope you feel nicer"

Baby boy, blue eyes; and
beauty stopped by on the doorstep.
Came by, "au revoir, good night, good
times... "

Age is heavy, sometimes, like a coat, and for what we know
we hide in our deepest pockets
a shattered watch with a disabled, swinging latch
from that moment, those moments, time, chance,
and redemption
flew away from us
defeated by the sound of Earth.

We are the harrow upon such foundations, of which we still seek some origin.
Arid, some parts, drenched, some others, and full of fruit,
only beyond the horizon of our weighted shoulders,
but we do not look back. Never look back.

Destiny is soiled when these sodden hands
reach for seeds from tortured wallets, but dear, oh dear,

all great things,

however finite or eternal, infinitesimal or cosmic
have grown from the dirt, and from
good, lukewarm time.

Fear is for the present, it does not exist in the past or in the morning.
And for the six feet we have dug ourselves,
the only thing we can find on the other side
is sunshine.

Funny, what you say,
once the door is closed.