so i know im not going nuts... but this site keeps fucking up on me... im getting really tired of writing and then it just goes blank... so instead of writing anything imma gunna fucking copy and paste something... --------------------------------------------- it has occurd to me that whenever i seek to create, that which may be construed as unique prose, that it refuses to manifest itself in my mind as soon as i pick up my instrument of creation. the mind turns inward and thoughts no longer flow. in response, i stare at blank pages until something causes me to stand and leave. a bowel movement perhaps? Going with this thought now, allow me to entertain one with the notion of what would follow. frustrated, i would try to relieve both the inevitable build up of urine and emotions into one stream into the bowl. when finished, right as i would flush the porcelain beast, a single stream of consousness would touch my forefront. i wont even bother washing my hands but instead rush to empty pages. and as soon as the instrument of creation is touched, all is lost. at which point i begin staring at blank pages until my body tells me to move again.