sort of like a monkey, but slightly more turtle, thought the bunny

[kitsunegari]

i used to be able to write everyday. i used to be able to grab a notebook and a pen, find somewhere to sit and observe my surroundings and let the ink slowly scratch it's way across the pages. it would be so easy. words, thoughts and observations used to just slip right out. once upon a time i carried up of two notebooks, ALL OF THE TIME, in order to write various things. one would be for my short stories, the other would be for verse, poetry and song. i could write while watching television, or while taking notes at uni, or while rehearsing a play. not every single word was worth keeping, but i still have a record of them. nowadays, i'm lucky if i can find the energy to write my name on a scrap of paper, just to see if i remember how to use a pen. i've been carrying the same notebook with me for the better part of six months now, and i've barely used up more than ten pages. i'll sit at train stations, the pub, even at rehearsals with my pen at the ready and the book open to the next blank space, but virtually nothing will leak out. it's almost like i've lost the connection with my medium; lost my muse.

i think in the past i had a purpose for my scrawlings, and every once in a while, i regain that purpose and will spit out a few things that are worth keeping. but, for the most part, nothing i write is worth the chemical reaction that took place to make it. i also don't have the energy to sit and write everyday. i've tried. unsuccessfully. i've even tried using a different medium to perhaps bolster any creative urges i have, but even that ends up being a waste of time and electricity, and it's far too easy for me to delete what i create than it is with a pen and paper. a computer can erase any trace of the thought, and i don't like that idea all that much.

perhaps i'm tired. that would explain some of it. perhaps i've just run out of thougts and ideas for the time being. i do think, though, that my biggest problem is that i have no reason or purpose to write anymore. i have no muse. previously, the man i called 'my hero' was my muse, but he recently tumbled from my graces, and since then, i've not had any real care to make words work for me. and i'm saddened by this. words were the only way i could express myself. with words i could release the varied emotions i'd bottled up. it was a cleansing ritual. without the use of words, i'm more tense. i'm easily angered and my tolerance for everything is greatly reduced. i need to find the words again. i need to express again.

i need to find my muse. and that is going to be the toughest part.

til next....
~Kits~ (uh, okay)