* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It's dark, it's soft with some pokey out bits some of which are sharp and hurt; it's like anyone else's head really.


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Thursday, July 29

Dry Blogging @ The Canvas Cafe

Why am I an hour and a half early? I'm not sure why I do this - now I'm bored and feeling out of place.

It's way to warm in here - drinking hot coffee can't help. I do need the caffeine - I don't know how I'm going to make it through Charles and Joe's shows - I do know that the next couple of days will be spent at home.

I should clean the place anyway. I could start trying to write again. I know there's a way to start but I don't remember what it is. I know that I used to know because I have written before so I must be able to do it.

What translation unit have I lost that turns inspiration into words?

Just do it?

I don't know what that means. I do know what it means I don't know how to make it happen.

I can write but it isn't the inspiration - it's as if there's a filter that scrapes away all that shined so what I get is dull and lifeless. A badly processed photograph of a beautiful life.

There's so many people - what inspires them to get out of bed everyday?

What makes sense to them?

Why can't I see it in their eyes?

People must exist without it I just don't know why.

What is the point of living an uninspired life?

Maybe I'll go sit in the park and think.

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