Nothing to Say

When the words don't come out, I feel a bit lost. 
Words have been my outlet for a long time.  They don't judge, the only say what you tell them to say and without emotion or bias.  Black words on white page mean only what the reader takes from them. 

When I am blocked, when the words don't speak to me, I am blank. 

So I take Kerouac's approach.  I stream my consciousness.  I hear a rhythm and let the letters form the words by themselves.  Let my mind float along my fingers and tap tap tap the keys to open the dam that holds back the truths that are swirling around in my brain teasing like kisses from a beautiful woman.  Too many images too many metaphors make the sentence obscene to be seen.  I am blocked up, stopped up and straining for the openness of a free spirit.  I have no pain to speak of.  I have no heartache to lean on.  I have no crying to complain of.  These are the things that feed my soul and I take that soul and throw it to a page and push it around to form ideas and phrases and say the things that I need to say.  This if fucking torture.  Where is the voice. 
Where is the muse.
When I am in love I am writing.
When I am in agony I am writing.
When I am content I am not writing. 
The passion from the pain.  The words made by love.

I watch movies.  Lots of movies.

I play lots of music.  I listen to lots of music.
I have started talking to someone who likes music like I like music.  She recommends bands to me.  I listen to them.  I find things that I like.  New things.  This is good.  I get stuck in a rut of what I have always heard and I never hear new things.  I have heard new things.  I like these new things.  I like new things.  They enrich life.  I like routine.  It simplifies life.  Life is balance.  balance of new and old.  Familiar and found. 
I close my eyes and see only black. 

I slept last night, a reasonable sleep.  I had dreams.  Weird dreams.  Good dreams.  I woke up feeling good and refreshed.  I showered.  I worked.  I came home.  I napped and had therapy.  Good therapy.  It was a good enough day. 

But I can't write. 
I have no words.  Nothing to say. 
Nothing to say
Nothing to say