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Updated: Jun 11, 2021

I fill page after page with meaningless words. They have no shape, no plot, no line. They don’t say anything. I drop them out of habit and then erase them out of frustration. It’s not writer’s block, it’s lack of actual intention. What’s the point of writing with nothing to say? I don’t have stories to tell, today.

When reality is more surreal than anything you could think up, sci-fi and fantasy become flat and stale, and their bases crumble like a biscuit in your afternoon tea. We have to reinvent everything just to adjust to reality.

You can fill a hundred pages with nothing if you want to, but will it satisfy you?

I try to make every word count, because words have meaning. But strung together without structure they become empty and meaningless. Reality has lost its solidity. And I can’t write without solid foundations. You can’t balance a laptop on a table with only two legs, can you? Even this piece makes no sense. But I’ll write it anyway, because I’m a writer. I need to. It’s the only simple thing left in my life right now. Writers write, hence here I am.

I’m rambling but it’s all right, it’s still words, and these come from the heart. I’m lost. I try so many things and none of them work. I can’t even sleep right. I can’t fix this on my own but who to ask? We all have problems. We’re all struggling. Because we’re all in the same boat and it’s sinking.

Between a global pandemic, a global economic crisis, a global feeling of being fed up with governments, everything around us is crumbling. And we’re expected to pull stories and art out of our overfull minds, to bring a smile to someone, somewhere, somehow. I can’t.

I can’t keep pretending I’m okay. I can’t lie to myself. I’m broke, and I’m broken. So I smoke and I damage my voice and my lungs in the hopes of keeping control on something. Anything. Even if it’s just the manner of my own death. Morbid? Yes. What did you expect? I’m drowning. I’m sitting at the dinner table, which is also the kitchen table, which is also my desk. I barely have room to move around.

I’m not here to give you good news, to tell you everything will be fine. It won’t. Not for a very long time. The sound that you hear in the back of your mind is that of reality bending to the point of bringing the past back to the present and rewriting the future. Haven’t you heard? What we’ve built all these years resulted in failure. We have to try again. To start anew. To rebuild something we haven’t even torn down yet. And it’s up to us, writers, artists, dreamers, thinkers, to shape this new world we all want but can’t imagine. We’re the ones with the power but we’re the ones who are starving.

I’m rambling. What you’re reading right now is my unedited thought process. Going in circles like a dog chasing its tail, my brain is overheating, my mind in crumbles, my life in shambles, and I can’t fucking write a story to save it.

It would save it. It would save more than mine, if I wrote the right story in the right way at the right time. Like a ray of sunshine saving a dying tree, like a drop of water saving the thirsty man who’s sleeping in the street, you know the one, you pass by him everyday and apologise because you have nothing to give him but a smile and a wave. And you promise yourself you’ll come back someday with a warm meal, but you can’t even feed your own hunger. My stomach is in knots and not just from anxiety. It’s killing me, but it brought friends.

I’m medicated, by the way. This isn’t depression talking, it’s the shape of the world we’re in, that even my traumas aren’t as bad as the situation I live in. I made bad choices, as most of us have, and I did it again in a different form before I knew what it was. I am paying the price of not thinking ahead. Assuming the consequences of others’ actions again. This song is getting old but it’s stuck on repeat. And I can’t free my mind enough to write about it.

Except I am. This piece is me, writing about it. It doesn’t make sense yet but it will, by the time I reach the end. The circles are getting wider, touching more and more topics, haven’t you noticed? We started with crumbs but bit by bit we’re putting them together into a full loaf of bread, crusty, tasty, and with the right amount of heat we’ll end up with a story. Not the kinds of stories you find on my other pages, but the kind you all have in your soul, the kind that resonates like a gong in the hearts of artists everywhere. The powerlessness and the recapture of our power. We can do things even when we think we can’t.

Because no matter what we will keep trying.

Because I will write those stories even if I don’t believe in me, because someone else will give me the spark that I need for my mind to open. It’s like a locked door and I don’t have the key. But keys can be made, it’s a matter of skill and having the right materials. It’s simple. I’ll find the answer to the questions I don’t even know I’m asking where I least expect them. And I’ll bounce back like I always do, in the most unexpected way, and I’ll finish what I’ve started, someday.

This blank page doesn’t scare me, it’s the world around it that is scary. I just need to reshape it in a way that will fill the void and my soul again. Rambling isn’t always a bad thing, it allows you to think and to dissect your thoughts. To build a castle made of sand, where each word is a grain. The page is water, the writing a bucket, it just takes a bit of effort and you can turn it into a structure of wonder and awe and beauty. Trust me. It took me a thousand words to get here but I’m doing it. And I’m doing it in style, with a shape, a plot, a line. I had forgotten something. Words don’t just have meaning. They also have a rhythm. And that beat is getting me through these pages, shaping its own song.

Try it. Go back to the top, you can sing it. Or rap it. Put the words to your own beat and rock it. They might not fit a lullaby but they’re lulling me into thought instead of sleep and I needed this. I needed the space to express what I think, if only so I could know it. Words are amazing like that. They’ll show you parts of yourself you were hiding. Let them. Embrace it.

I shall close this window into my mind for now, you’ve seen enough. Time to open one into yours and let the rhythm take over, learn about yourself and tell me if this helped. We all have stories to tell that we don’t even know yet. Let’s get to it, shall we?

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