Creativity

Sometimes I worry myself. I sit for hours trying to think of something, and nothing new comes. This pains me, because I create. It's what I do. There is no joy to parallel the creation of that which wasn't but now will always be. I am deprived of that feeling when I can't think of anything.

But I do. I think of everything. Worlds rise and fall in my mind, but I don't choose them. Creativity isn't a conscious process. I can't choose to invent. All I can do is let it craft itself through me when it so chooses. My ideas will be born when they want, and to force them is to hurt them.

I have a notebook gradually filling with ideas. Each could be a novel. Most could be a short story. A few could be poems. For now, I add. One day I intend to craft each of them. For now... I don't know. I'm almost afraid of doing anything more than I do. What if I find I can't do anything but extremely short stories? I've written countless short stories, many poems and a screenplay. A screenplay-in-progress. It has the plot points it needs, but it needs fleshing out.

I've never written anything resembling a novel. The Apocalypse could be the longest thing I've written. I'm afraid.

Why Won't I Just Die?

When your fingernails touch something, it shouldn't be said that you touched it. Fingernails lack nerve endings. If you can't feel it, you didn't touch it.



From the twilight come our race
In the light we found a place
'Til we with ways so low and base
Caused the sun to turn its face.
The darkness oe'rspread all like lace
And into dark we fell apace.

I write things like that and wonder if they're melancholy beauty or vain attempts to craft it.



The time has come! I have regained my desire to work on my screenplay, The Masked Ones. The third draft should include a never-before-seen scene. Prolly. I dunno, I'm sick.



Quiero spring.

I laspsed into Spanish for a second there, didn't I? Dioses, estoy cansado.

The gods I refer to are the Aesir.

Johnny went to Asgard's door,
Found a hammer on the floor.
Taking it, he angered Thor.
Little Johnny is no more.



We get signal!

All your base are belong to us.
To whom does all your base belong? Us.
All the base that was yours are belonged to us.
Us are belonging of all your base.
The possession of all your base has fallen to us.

Meh, I dunno. Make your time.



Delirium is the only um for me.

And it's probably also why wrote that.


Poof!

Why are you still here? I magicked you away. Lemme try again.

Poof!

...