Dammit. All of it. I can sit here and stare at the screen and listen to all the damn music that I want and will the words to come as hard as I possibly can, and nothing will happen. Not a thing. Not one shining drop of liquid cool refreshing inspiration, not one grain of brilliant truth or brightness to lighten the darkness around me, not even the beginnings of a very bad poem.

I think I'm going to dig out Bird by Bird again and read it. No, not because Cesi reccommended it, why on earth would you think that? *shameless* And cryptic, don't forget cryptic. *pulls out hair* I hate this. Hate it hate it hate it. Maybe I'll read more of Poetry as Persuasion. Maybe I'll write an article for the Beacon. Maybe I'll shadowbox until my arms fall off.

Maybe I'll just shut up. *screams*

Pardon me as I bludgeon my moodswings into a slightly less damning shape.