Do you ever wonder what writers do when they can't write?

They write.

Just not what they want to.

The words still pour out onto the page, the only problem is that they seem to pour out from the wrong orifice.

...

Sometimes it seems like no matter what I say, it always seems to be either extremely right or extremely wrong.

I don't know how I do it.

It's curse disguised as a blessing disguised as a stuffed llama.

Its like I .... well, it's like I just don't know anymore.

Everything just seems to be something

circlescirclescircles

....

Are you happy?

It's a simple question, really...

Are you happy?

Do you even know what that means anymore?

When we were younger, everythign was so much easier. Love was simple back then. Love was all there was. Nothing came before that first love and nothing was going to matter after it. It was innocent and pure. It was gold.

And now the world is different. Its moved on. The past haunts our present with every breath. It not only molds us, it consumes us.

Its like we don't know how to feel anymore, so we grab hold of the closest heart and pull it into our own to fill whatever gaps our past has left us with.

Its a melancholy world filled with melancoly souls. A sad state. A lonely one.

So I pledge, from this day forward, to change.

...

Ok... let's get real... get on or get out.