equal measure

I cannot function today. I was standing in the 7-11 parking lot questioning my existence. Am I really doing this? Am I really here? Who dropped me off and left me here on this planet? this life?

I cannot function today. I am staring at my computer screen waiting for something.

Maybe if I pretend a little bit, I will get through the day.

I am walking on a hairline between total dysfunction and success.

I am upset that I cannot create, that I am no longer as brilliant as I used to be, no longer serving a purpose, no longer connected to art, to myself, to you, to that inner light, which is vastly growing dim. But I am pretending, pretending all the way into the bottom of the bottle where I find myself again, reaching for something, and rising up like a phoenix into an artificial life, comforted by mediocrity, accepting the dysfunction and allowing myself to just sit in the waste.

end of note.

______

this is blank.
see this line?
its blank.

my mind is producing nothing
no paints, no brushes, no notebooks filled with stories to tell.
nothing
but white space.

see this?
its blank.

i've been caught in this
thing
that is giving me nothing in return.
its a bad relationship.
i am unfulfilled, unsatisfied, empty, waiting and waiting

you see this?
its blank.

nothing is happening here
but white, white space.
endless white space
in which to float on
drifting and falling
and crashing
into nothing
but white
space.

you see this line?
it doesn't exist
i'm making it up

this is nothing.
what you see here
is a figment of your imagination
and i am
a
magician

you see this?

nothing
but
white
space.