I’m sorry for the absence; the silence. I haven’t been able to write. Writing isn’t easy. Sometimes I lose it entirely. It’s somehow such a bland thing to say. It’s not a block, and it’s not precisely the inability to string words together and make something out of them — that’s not writing. Sometimes I create something and I feel as if it contains nothing true of me; it did not inherit, perhaps because the spoils are scarce, or perhaps because it didn’t have to, but that’s not writing. Or it might be, but it’s not what I’m about. I’ve thought of deleting this website, start fresh somewhere else, recreate something freer, shapeless, but how long then until I’m here again? It’s within myself that I am stuck, not in what surrounds me. If it was the latter, I would be able to write. This is where being creative has unimaginable worth, telling blue from green, sadness from sadness. I miss it terribly. I really do.