Le Grand Rien

The depression has returned and creation has gone both awry and away. I am uninspired and unenthused, two things made better with a reliable muse, which isn't necessary for either to exist...but it helps. I'm consuming media (videos, movies, books) believing at some point, things will kickstart back into something positive. I should be painting most evenings and I just can't figure out how to paint anything. The steady hum of channel two static has made a home inside this skull again. 

That I'm not actively working TOWARD a singular goal or end result is almost assuredly playing its own role in this fractured morality play. I have repeatedly applied for art and writing residencies and have been denied entrance to all. I have done book events hyping the latest publication, with others on the horizon. I've made a few paintings since the spring arrived, but the garage has been mostly quiet and lifeless. 

Other than the next book, I have no real direction with anything. And maybe that's fine now, but I've almost always operated with a clear goal in mind, or working toward several goals all in tandem. This particular speed is not one I'm used to. 

I had amazing, non-sexual intimacy for a good long while before it mutated, melted, fizzled out. The fumes that remain leave me wanting. I know that this, too, plays a large part in the why of how things are stagnating right now. My emotional compass needs a direction to follow, but the needle just keeps spinning and spinning and spinning...

My regular workouts have not helped either. 

I may just need to take a break from everything and let go. Stop TRYING and just be...but again, it's not a speed I'm used to.

*    *    *

Work on the next book remains daunting. I'm rehashing the worst several years of my life over and over again in the hopes of finding some kind of respite from them. Ripping off scabs weekly, blood quickly dappling the wounded area. It's important to get the immediacy and the weight of the emotions reflected in the prose just right, but the work is incredibly fucking hard and it's deceptively easy to walk away from it most days. 

If others end up gaining from my lessons later, then that's all to the good. If others end up liking it at all, that's even better. I have to admit, however, that this book is the first of my publications with the weight of real purpose behind it. Not that the first three books weren't purposeful or intentional, only that this one may hit harder on emotional levels for more people than just the author this time around. It's vitally important to get it all right for those who may have gone through similar experiences. 

I'm in love with my first three books. Couldn't be prouder of putting them together in all the ways they became. I have no idea how to get others to give a shit about them more than I've been doing, however. The hustle sucks, and I've been hustling my skills and my talents in one form or another since I was 15. 

I'm tired. My whole soul is fucking exhausted. I'd rather just spend my time creating instead of having to also figure out how to promote my work on 50 different apps or sites just to get someone to think about giving it a look, much less pay it any real attention. I've only got so much more dancing monkey left within me before I give up on that aspect altogether. 

Whatever should come back, will. I'm not worried that I won't get back into the saddle with things again. I think the previous few years were the worst creative and emotional droughts I'll ever experience, which makes me believe nothing else will come close to comparing. This is my hope, anyway. 

Thanks for reading and letting me vent. It's been a while. 

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