Why write?
I am writing for something profound to say. Or if not that, at least a profound way to say it. Mixing the mundane fears and hopes of everyday into something that just might appear important enough to say. But I don't have shit to write about right now. And I mean that in a good way. You see, things are on an uphill swing. And I suppose I don't write because I'd rather sing. It's kind of sad that I write only when I am depressed or at least pissed off at the injustice I see in the everyday folds of the dirty laundry we call humanity. And maybe I should try to find joy in the ink that I spill, as I look at the lip prints on the glass sitting on my windowsill. My pen is back in my pocket. My muse is amused that I've resparked my fuse, even though I'm confused on how exactly I should be used.
But I'm available...
To it all....
I just want to write like when Saul became Paul about the profoundness of my own absurdity as I realize that I've not a lot to say and fewer ways to say it when it's only down to you and me. So why write when I can be.
  ¶ 4:59 PM