Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Where does Writers Block come from?

So yesterday I was asked, “Where does Writers Block come from?”

First and foremost one must not look at writers block as something negative or positive, but as a state of being that is. Whether necessary, asked, appreciated, or acquired, it’s a place of void that slows or disables artistic creation.

So… is writers block a place of void or just simply a break? Is it a necessity for growth or a writer’s worst enemy? Does it fluctuate depending on purpose, emotion, or tool of expression?

Is writer’s block an inability to express emotions or simply a lack of emotions to express? One can argue that writer’s block has nothing to do with emotions at all.

So with that does the ability to express change with the tool of expression? Is writers block different from when a painter is not motivated, or a musician is not feeling the music around them? What is art? Is the act of creation enough to be art? Or does art need to be back by emotions, expressions, and feelings in order for it to feel substantial? And if creation enough encompasses art, then what is the relationship between lack of creation (writers block) being a state of art.

Some express that writer’s block is merely a transition period, a point of reflection, regression, progression, evolution, growth, or change. But if that is so, then what are you leaving and where are you going? Or does neither matter.

As one brother put it, writers block is “The lost of truth in your words. The moment you become untrue is it the moment in which words protest your pen.” Now, this to me seems like a personification of writing. As if writer’s block is the voice for the art. Speaking loud and clear: damn I am over worked; under paid, bored, or just simply something is not aligned. Writers block is the catalyst for truth and clarity to be found.

In questioning the void and absence of the art you begin to question the purpose of its existence. And not just place the value of each word as a factor in creating perfect sentences, but actually molding or changing someone’s thoughts and thinking. If my ability is snatched away at times when I dare not ask or expect, then of course I want to question why it is not there when I think I need it.

So is writer’s block simple a nomad. It comes and goes based on its own freedom, and inclination, not on life, emotions, tools, expression or growth.

Does any of this even really matter?

Wednesday, October 7, 2009


Stolen legacy
Strapped caged mind disabled body
Stuck swollen by life's fight
Swirled emotions
Swarm with commotion
Suddenly distractions equal fractions
Seconds spent wasted in time
Summer spending
Sequential minutes
Surrounded by nothing but references
Sadly succumbed by seduction
Secluded to a place of passion
Straddle and strapped
Sultry share of expression
She stroked
She floats
sure of nothing
Stuck on him
Standing, walking, left, her
Searching, for answers to match his questions,
She, branded
Substance tainted
Steady head strung,
strong willed but lost
Staggering between his syllables, his love song,
Strategically tranced her
Summer silenced by his words on repeat
Scanning each moment,
surveying each place
Submissive response to sunrise,
Stolen legacy
Solution : escape seconds spent in esctacy
Suffering for higher ground
She smiles, sky miles hung on his each word
slow recaps
Secluded to a place of satisfaction
She settled
stepped back ,
Stuck in love for self
Success with each second,
stupidity stepped
She lost time.
Saddened memories
Her Legacy stolen
Self slowly excepted.
Success with each word
She no longer listens.
smiles. submissive to self. Love.
Legacy re molding.

Monday, October 5, 2009


Seconds become ours
And given
Slowly riding
Course unforgotten
Our road less driven
We never meant this
Dead at tracks
Guilt ridden
Hope searching
Blind loving
Before us
Stole, a place of worth
Life living purpose with seeing
Concrete. Swollen
Bruised Loving
Unconditionally open
Yet taken
A Void.
Of social living
Rules. Limits. Creation
You were life.
Emotions misplaced
My secret
My sanity
The We. in Us
To get her
All or nothing
Or average
But Worth something
Trust fall
Last seconds past hours
Claimed passion
Was it to be
Truth. Strong. Unity. In All
Never broken
Tainted poison.
A desired fear
We had it.
Together forever
We never broken
Living in dreams
Always forgotten
False reality
Lived daily
Won't escape me
The fall
Best lived on repeat.
Love at the purest
After the miss me
Concrete swollen
Time worked
We. us
Tracks love train
Smashed and recapping
Gave borrowed love
My secret
My sanity
the raw, the ecstasy
You were.
Seconds became ours.
Never forgetting
Despite all
The fall
Concrete swollen.