Writing on Blank Discs

How long it has been since concrete words, ideas, and thoughts have floated here...suspended themselves in the air of this greying backdrop the way piles of dust in a streak of light do. How long it has been since thoughts and and words and ideas have ceased to be abstract and loaded, to simply be what they are, and carry the meanings that they should. Meanings hoped to be, supposed to be, recognizable, known, understood. Meanings attached to the symbols, or it is not anything. Just words on a page, words in the air, circulating above for a little while, then expelled. Not anything...is that to be less desired than everything, even when it comes with the inevitable damned spilling of feelings? But oh, to remain numb. Frost bite numbs the skin it has poisoned.

How long, how long, how long. i write through the ambiguous and i express through it, and i feel through the endless enigmatic ambiguous... now, should i fear, have i left the ways of thinking in the concrete, in the solid, to have entered and reside in the world of the unknown, the unshown, the unclear. Recently i have not written - have not written...it sounds strange and anxious and out of place even to even see those three words form - out of what i presumed was a lack of substantial inspiration, motivation, emotion, condensation. Heh. Whatever. Such nonsense. i am a writer. Of course i write. i have ceaseless inspiration provided by looking at a blade of dew covered grass, at a kernal of popcorn, at the color blue, from holding a hand, from hearing an "a" quiver on the string of a violin.

So just write. Write, write, write.

Empty. Blank. Empty blank discs. Discs that should contain, that could contain, everything. But
quiet now. It's all understood. There is so much going on inside that i simply cannot grasp a hold of it and express it using modern day, contemporary, 5-vowels, native Canadian English. Or any other spoken language, for that matter. No, even my precious words, my adored written ink, can betray me, shrug shoulders and leave unable to be of assistance this time.

And so sit, and ponder, and let it be. And just try to allow emotion, try to let it be legitimate, acceptable, "ok." Just this once perhaps. What else is there? Infarction. Frost bite kills the skin it has poisoned.