These long stretches without writing can be so debilitating. I sometimes forget my writing persona and that I was ever writing for an audience. I only have one person following this blog. I don't even see this person anymore. (That doesn't mean we're not still friends, Brad!) Its just that I am probably not writing to anyone else but myself. (And Brad) Still, I feel like I am broadcasting to ubiquitous audience. I am going to allot myself this exercise this once, just until I find my groovation. I'll just continue typing until I can shed enough rust to get back into the swing. I went quite a while without writing. 3 weeks actually! Beside writing prompted journal entries that were pretty sterile and time efficient, I didn't have much time for creative output.
I went to Thailand about a week and a half ago to study sustainable tourism. I learned a canterburytales's worth of content. -I'll try to write about it later.
Different
The blond strings of protein,
attached to your head that
lay flat by your ears, past your shoulders,
are slaves to the winds tug
and caked with oily perspiration.
You sit outside sipping tea
watching your primate species
meander about.
You picked up a couple novels
from recycled books
over sociology, your field of study.
"One day I'll understand them," you say
and one day you will understand yourself.
My friend Richard stopped by the coffee shop where I'm sitting now. I felt inspired to write about him while he was in sight. Then he left explaining the brevity of the poem.
