Monday, July 24, 2006

words do not.

I thought I was going to write a poem tonight. Instead I sat here staring at the screen contemplating things there are no words for. I spent some time hitting "next blog" and found a blog whose URL and name I've now forgotten. The most recent post was that of a 59 year old woman saying goodbye to her friends and making peace with death. Her cancer had taken all hope away, and left her with regrets, and a hospice nurse. I came back then, to the empty screen, cursor blinking, positive that I'd write, I'd find a way to decompress, let all the festering shit in my head out.

The urge comes. The words do not.


  1. Erin, I so get this. It's been my world for the past year or so. Yes, the need and want to write is there, but the words just aren't.

    Hope this doesn't end up a permanent thing for you. Of course, I know it won't because you're not the type to sigh and give up. No, you'll torture those words until they come out of their hiding places, and then you punish them onto the paper. That is your way.

    Love you, E.

  2. Festering shit seems to be making the rounds. I mean, how often do I go two days without a post?

    Festering shit. Worse kind of shit there is.

    But I still dig ya. Thought of you earlier, while inspecting my dahlias -- leaves full of holes, no culprit in sight.

    This is the moment, sister. The moment before we rise up again. Ready yourself with warpaint, or whatever you got in your own bag of tricks. We're just about ready to get ready to kick the living daylights out of festering shit!