Archive for 05/16/2011

… and we are alone,
our breath intermingling
as clouds of ice and storm,
gathering overhead.
Rain threatens to
cleanse us
but we prefer this
sinful state of ecstacy
over the foolish blessings
of a lost civilization.

 I tell you that I love you
and you are upon me again,
showering me in kisses
that go beyond skin –
this is my communion
and if I could choose
to stay here
then I would.
I would… 


You want to be let in on a not-so-little secret? Lean in close now, everybody…

I hate writer’s block. (TAKE COVER, SHE’S ABOUT TO RANT!)

It happens pretty much all the time, and I’m sure any writers out there know the feeling. For those of you who don’t…

You know how you have lungs, right? Delicious Useful things, those lungs. Now, see, without these significant organs, you can’t breathe. Yes, yes, I’m sorry, you imaginative geniuses. Sadly, and contrary to popular belief, lungs are required for the action of breathing to get very far. Now I’m not a very smart person in the world of lungs, or I’d explain how it does that oxygen purification thing and gets it to our cells and somethingsomething else…

… Ahem. I failed anatomy/science/life/wherever-you-learn-about-lungs for a reason. (Okay, no, but it makes me feel better if I tell myself that it’s part of some magnificent plot.)


Bottom line is that we need our lungs. Unfortunately, bad/deadly/irritating things can happen to your lungs if you breathe stuff in. Let’s see… Spiders, sand, kitten-huffing, smoke, poison gas, flies, your grandfather’s bad breath… Oh! Ever hear of crushed glass? Yes, well. I’m not an expert, but breathing in crushed glass is often made out to be A Very Bad Thing. Honestly, so is breathing in anything else that isn’t airy-oxygen-stuff (according to this sciencey fellow on my right, at least).

Still. This lovely person says breathing in crushed glass “isn’t too bad” – until it accumulates. Yeaaah… Your lungs have trouble getting all that annoying dust out. It starts clinging together to the inside of the lung and makes breathing very difficult. It also leads to a decrease in lung capacity or something. Not too bad, right?

(Apparently, it causes silicosis too. You know: shortness of breath, fever, “cyanosis” or bluish skin, death, coughing, fatigue, weight loss… And probably not in that order. And for your information, it’s marked by inflammation and scarring in the upper lobes of the lungs. “But scars are badass,” a student cries out, “and you can’t tell me otherwise!” Uhh, yeah, you keep saying that to yourself… I think the part where they’re on the insides of your lungs messes that up a bit, though.)

Well, but anyway. Breathe in enough of it and you suffocate slowly. Possibly even painfully.

That’s writer’s block.

… And that doesn’t make any sense.

Version 2:

In the metaphorical body of the writer, our lungs – our ability to breathe life into our work – are very, very important. We pull in the words and lives of those about us, the creative beauty or nightmare of the world, and we convert it into our own masterpieces.

Sometimes, we breathe in something that just doesn’t work out, be it poisonous gas, a kitten, or glass shards. At first, it doesn’t seem to hinder us much. We can still write a few paragraphs or a few lines, even if it feels forced and lifeless, right? We can still breathe, even if it seems painful to, yeah? Maybe it’ll go away in time if we just keep writing and breathing and doing our own thing.

Well, doesn’t always work that way. If we’re unlucky, we keep “breathing in” this stuff. At some point in the day/night/cycle, we realize we just can’t do it anymore; we’re suffocating ourselves with the glass shards and kittens and bugs accumulating in dem artistic bellows.

Some of us curl up and go into hibernation for a few weeks or months until they figure out a way to work these nasty things out of our systems. Some others force themselves to keep breathing and writing until some sort of miracle is bestowed upon them and they choke up all those glass-infested poisonous kittens they were huffing.

Either way, unlike physical dying which, as far as I know, is pretty permanent… Writer’s block isn’t. Thank God.

This also may have totally gone over your heads, which is fine. Tip: never write a rant over writer’s block when you’re avoiding schoolwork doing math and other smart things. Oh, and…

tl;dr for those of you who don’t like reading (well, what the hell are you doing here, then?):

Writer’s block is a bitch.