Friday, November 04, 2005

Rain Come Down

Sometimes, the words dry up.

Maybe it’s a cycle, linked to circadian rhythms, autumnal equinoxes or academic calendars. Maybe my creative ability and motivating passions are like the moon, waxing then and waning now, expanding and shrinking, constantly in transition.

Maybe it’s a defense mechanism, a way to avoid those energies that might be upsetting. If I don’t pay attention to the words, then they won’t surface. They won’t name the world that hides just beneath the surface of the grammatical structure and cadence of the syllables. Words can create reality, you know, and sometimes I’d rather not recognize it.

Or maybe my words are simply fewer and farther between than I imagine them. I imagine my head as full of profundity, stocked with phrases and paragraphs waiting patiently for their turn to leap onto the page; but scarcity is a true principle, and not always an awful one.

Sometimes, the words dry up.

They usually come back in a fit, all at once, hormonal, tearful, and nudged out by a glass of wine. Whoever happens to be on the receiving end (the journal, computer, roommate, or friend), gets an earful. The words rush forth, piling over one another to get to the front: a waterfall, a running river, a pounding rainstorm. The drought is ended with a deluge.

Expect more words.

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