No Future to Embarrass Us: Back at it

So, I haven't blogged in a bit, I'm sorry. I've had a bit of a writer's block, not really knowing where to go next. I could have just written something, the day to day whatever. But, I don't want my blog to be a conduit to relay my grocery lists, how many cigarettes I smoke in a day, or what I had for dinner.

I thought I was at a stand still. I'd sit in front of my computer hoping that the words would come if I wrote anything. But it's empty. Anyways. I'd sit there hoping that it'd give, hoping that I could push it through whatever cusp to take it to somewhere it wasn't before. Take it to some other level or something. But I also knew that what has to happen is that it needs to come without being forced. I hate my writing when it reads like it was forced. So that was my stand still.

Its a weird collision, and it made me horribly alienated from any attempt to write.

Trying to write, I came up with these rough drafts of a blog post then stopped knowing that I was going nowhere with it, or if it was, it was being forced.

...I feel like I'm at a cusp and something needs to happen to my writing. I don't know what it is. I want to say that this cusp is me needing to get over some fear, though I can't quite pinpoint what it is that I'm afraid of.

Is it a problem with recognition? Sometimes I feel like when I write here in public that I'm confronting a demon. An invisible beast that keeps me from opening to the public. But even then, I'm getting more comfortable with that.

I've always had problems opening up, talking about my problems. My friends assume that I don't talk about my feelings. Its not that. Most of the time I've thought that talking about my feelings was somehow criminal. Like to put it into a language for sympathy or understanding was somehow reducing or negating its significance. I'm not talking out my problems to hear myself translate it into words so that I can rationalize them in some way.... "

Well, yesterday when I was walking home it came back to me. I stayed up late last night writing, and today I spent all my spare time writing. Its not going in here, but I'm working on a short story. I have the framework for it, and it should be done hopefully by next week.

Anyways, how are you doing reader? Good I hope? I'm also working a lot, the strike has let up and I can take the train to work now. Its been replaced with rioting. Which means public services are still up if nobody has thrown a molotov cocktail at a bus recently. A "social movement" has been replaced with "civil unrest" or "uncivil rebellion." On Tuesday I went by work to deal with some bureaucracy that I have to fill out in order to make up for the lost hours during the strike. I don't really mind, working a bit extra each week isn't really that bad. Tuesday, I took the train to the suburb beside the suburb where I work, then I caught the bus I regularly catch to get me the rest of the way. The bus driver informed me as I got on the bus that it would be stopping before it got all the way into my suburb and I would have to walk the rest of the way. I get off, and I walk along the bus path. At one point I stopped at a bus shelter and read the sign attached the glass. It was an apologetic note explaining that there will be no running busses till Thursday along this line since a bus driver was assaulted and his bus molotov cocktailed.

Some images of the riots.