1/27/2020

hard to believe that it's been over two weeks since my last posting. i think a lot has to do with my hangups in writing. i've also been pretty busy, what with lynn's sister visiting, and robotics stuff, and school responsibilities. i'm still hanging in there, but the cost has been some of my routines with regards to caring for myself.

i still struggle mightily (???) with writing. there have been times when i have been completely stuck, and i just sit there, trying to push one more disgusting word out after another. and it makes me so loathe myself, and the writing that i produce. i wonder at that little statement i heard from david sedaris that he goes to write every day WILLINGLY (his emphasis). would i do that? for me, it has become something that i dread, because it slams me against the walls of my prison, of my own limitations. i feel boring and ugly after such sessions. i feel as though i have nothing interesting to tell.

*****

then again, there is an abiding. even when things get difficult, there is a way to stick with it, and be patient. i'm hoping to reside in that, no matter what. i don't know, or i don't think, that it would guarantee me any further benefit, in terms of something beautiful that is written, but at least it makes my hand steady, and doesn't have me continually recoiling from myself, as though i had just touched fire or electricity.

*****

dreams, fantasies. sometimes these dry up, and you are left wondering through a desert. the only water that appears is a mirage, a kind of vibration and illusion in the air, with nothing substantial. i think i am wondering through that sort of country right now. it is kind of like that cure song, "prayers for rain." (i recall that song, and its neighbor, and those gray times in my room, or in the lounge, under that sort of light, that half-light, a kind of dreamy feeling).

i am tired of it, but i feel compelled to search for it, no matter what. to chase a feeling. it is impossible to be content with not feeling. it simply doesn't work. a hunger begets action, not quiescence.

*****

i have a flash image of the back corner of the old house. there used to be a bottlebrush tree there? and i buried a mejiro once. i think of that corner for some reason, wondering at its size. was it really that large or was it actually a tiny scrunched up corner that i idealized in memory? i also recall poki and limu, my sister's dogs, wondering in the darkness through the tangle of ferns. i wonder where they are now (dead, of course). i wonder what became of them. i remember liking poki, and how he would put his head in the crook of my armpit. it's something i like musubi to do too. i actually hated (or didn't like) limu, because she was too boisterous. i also recall coco, that chihuahua, that i used to torture by giving him a bath in the furo. why did i do such things to torment the animal? i'm not sure.

*****

oh well, it's about time to get to work on my writing. wish me luck.