Surprising sunshine this Thursday morning on California’s north coast, especially in light of all the bad weather that’s been forecast for the next few days.
Awaiting some rain, even as the sun disappears now-and-again, the wet approaches.
First post since last September — Compatible Creatures is nearly 11-years-old, with 2,851 posts published, and in all that time, I’ve never fallen into a slump like this — in the last seven years, at least five posts a week went online, and I was maintaining that schedule until this past summer.
A coalescence of events most likely created this literary lethargy, and labor seems lost, apparently I cannot concentrate long enough — the brain has become bombarded with too-much shit.
Even this little missive is seemingly becoming hard to tap out.
A poem in justification:
‘Do you know any good doctors?
My pen needs a laxative‘
(Illustration: M.C Escher’s ‘Three Spheres II,’ found here).
Despite a wide-world of horrific subject matter — from the never-ending state of the T-Rump calamity, to climate, to guns, on and on — I haven’t been able to put together the whatever force needed to write about any of it. As I said, this little patch of verbiage is losing interest.
Maybe Miss Emily Dickinson did really nail it:
“Saying nothing… sometimes says the most.”
I don’t know…