This is what it's come to. Grasping at uninspired imagery, insisting on finding purpose in late night church bells, radio static and the occasional strange pairing of words exchanged between disgruntled lovers on the sidewalk, waiting for something to hurt enough to write it down. My sabotage has been sabotaged, not by slight of hand but rather slightly out of hand manipulations. I sent the texts, waited for the responses and rearranged plans to accommodate acts of great life disruption, even coordinated believable lies and half truths to make the whole mess a bit messier. But as it turns out my general tolerance for being disappointed is far more giving than I had remembered. I can’t get drunk like I used to, and getting high is becoming increasingly more expensive and apparently a few little let downs, all with first and last names, don’t knock me out the same. It’s not that I miss the chase (I’m not a fucking retired ex-cop or something and it has always been more of a tackling, anyway) but rather I miss being able to confirm my appraised value. I've loved for less. The lowest bidders are the biggest winners. If they feel good, they're probably bad. If I’m not worried, we're doomed. “I’ll love you as long as you never love me.” is something I imagine myself saying if this were a movie and if the risks were scripted. I prefer to be an open wound in open water wearing my love like a bloody invitation. So what's worse? Severing my natural desire to collect pain like baseball cards or mint condition jazz records? Or indulging so much, so completely that the words precede the feelings? Either way part of me will wither while the other parts fight for their turn to be neglected. Hurt me harder, ignore me next. A creative rut, an emotional standstill, this is more than writers block. I don't want to die. Quite the contrary. Sylvia cooked herself, Hunter S, and Hemingway swallowed bullets and I'm just "blogging" (god I hate that word, do I have to use it?) hoping I can find new ways to live without needing to know what it would be like to take a dip with Virginia. The problem is I can’t tell if winter is coming or going and that is with complete disregard to the weather.