Bad Signal

Sometimes I don’t recognise myself and I take all the wrong turns, end up craving Sat Nav or a decent map. Right now I can’t think and I can’t speak, I just sort of float on like the song as any old song will have to do. I fear I have acquired writers block, or writer’s loss or something like that. Although this is hardly a matter of life and death…I grant you that. I spent ages today writing and re writing stuff that just wont sit still. Lie down. Work out. Come clean. Nothing goes to plan. Satisfaction…I can’t get no. I re read stuff and I listen back and I want to die, well not quite, but it rhymed so there you go. Some days are just torment and disgust. I think Bukowski said that but I’m not really sure. Here I am, likening myself to some great notion of artistry or other and hitting none of the buttons, making all the wrong noises, blowing an obvious trumpet when I needed a delicate cello. Sometimes it all feels so meaningless. Like a relationship I have with my imagination, one that says I should but I can’t when I need to. It’s been awhile since the riddles got the better of me. These things will pass and when they do we will kiss and make up. Until then it’s just me myself and I. Hard Candy here I come. VP x