Bleak Street: When nothing you do summons concentrated, conscious, thought-provoking and sound, invigorating mental content worthy of depositing onto anything tangible for others--more/less yourself--to read and share. When the contemplative part of the brain has blown a fuse and you can't seem to find the right switch. You're able to function as normal; routines are promptly met and nurtured with forthright stamina but any creativity; any twinge of inspiration has been depleted almost entirely from within, you're here. Welcome to Bleak Street. Get cozy and settle in. It could be a brief meeting or a long one, depending on a variety of factors at play in this thing we confusingly, unanimously call life. I checked in earlier in the week, sort of by surprise, mind you. But that's how these mental vacations go, really. You don't always see them coming until one day you find yourself staring at a blank screen and you realize you haven't moved in days. It's a block. Some refer to it as writer's block but I think of it as a more all-consuming commitment you never really signed up for. Like a credit card statement after an exhausting, mostly forgetful bout in Vegas you never planned on attending in the first place. Does any of this make sense? Of course not! Nothing my brain regurgitates these days makes any damn sense. I don't know if it's the congealing negativity in the world lately, the fear of our nation's future, the impending snowstorm 'Jonas' approaching, looming deadlines hanging over my head or lack thereof, the everyday hustle or all of the above. What I am certain about is that I haven't been able to get through a lengthy post I began on Monday (five days ago), sharing why I care about the Presidency and politics, when these things take me a single day to complete, tops. So much goes into a subject matter deemed so risky, alienating and personal. In order for any political stance to have a shred of focus or validity it takes equal parts head and heart, facts and fiction. This is a tough one. But one I'd really like to share with my readers since I've shown a great deal of passion (good and bad) for politics over the years. I'll eventually [hopefully] finish that post, after the dust in my mind has settled and my thoughts are back in harmony. Until then, I give you something else I've transcribed from my erratic mindful(less) conclusions. A rhythmic exercise I practice to clear the conscious.
It's raining, raining, raining
The waning, waning, waning
It's so profane. Mundane. Excruciatingly lame
Makes you go insane
Can it be tamed?
Everyone is hungry. We all feel a pang
Why then, does it initiate such shame
Provoking so much vitriol. Nothing but blame
To others, it's merely an ongoing game
Fear has uprooted a dangerous twang
You and me. We're not so different I believe. If you, becomes we
So much freedom, yet no one is truly free
I am braver than you, because I see
There's more beauty in those far different than the familiar he or she
Anger and resentment are the most expensive fees
Winter becomes Spring. Gone is life's greatest luxury
Love is lighter, freer, and wiser than hate
Look fear in the face and plan your escape
Let go of what ails you. Begin your life. Before it's too damn late
Start over again on a later date, and put forth your best, useful fate.