There is a disconnect here.
The data flow, the energy, the innovation, the control, the link--the chain of command-- this connection more or less this disconnection, leaves this artistry in a mess of cables and unplugged chords. The production of this, what remains from this mass of wires and counterproductive vitality is static.
A calm, contempt static. It remains where it is for the sake of remaining.
It remains there for two years.
Two years of writer's block, and over 600 half-done pieces to show for it.
A collection of disconnection.
The vision is blurred, the passion is consuming--a glitch inside a writer's drive.
The creativity becomes pixelated.
Words overlapping words, firewalls arising between hyperboles, my passions growing farther apart, but still growing.
Perhaps I need an extension cord?
Extending my horizons (widening my vocabulary) transitioning from pacifist to vicious visionary.
I write to foster feelings that reside in my being. I write to fill up a world that stays empty. I write to destroy, develop and control. This electrical flow quickly passing between each nerve, each charge passing between cables that lead nowhere for two years (has anyone seen that extension cord?)
Momentarily the devices suffice, the wires more or less tangled in the same place, yet still plugged into a similar unit with a similar function. (How frustrating) two years too long for this disengage attempt to do what I love. No more power saving, no need for sleep mode. No more unplugged circuitry.
No more disconnection--I refuse to let this become what I am. I'm a writer among other things but first I'm a writer and I will not lose sight of that. I've addressed the disconnection, now all I need to do is find a way to align the circuitry. And I do intend to be my own electrician.
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