Is This What They Mean By “Writer’s Block”?

Here I am again. And there you are… Unfortunately I do not feel as radiant as I did yesterday. I feel out of step. I feel like an awkward dork. As I settled into my hard wooden bench nest at Pizzaiolo, I wondered what in Holiness’s name I’d even talk about today… Everything feels so… parched. In my sleep, somehow the ground opened out beneath me and I fell through the sky and landed with a dusty plop on the unapologetically cracky desert floor. Whoops. So now I am reporting live from a parched internal desert. Thankfully though I bothered to chase a flirtatious mirage and it turned out to be honest to god water. Sonic water. My favorite DJ, Iax released a new podcast (finally!) today. So far so good. I hope it will flow my juices. Juice my flow.

My mom recently gave me this book about following divine guidance. It couldn’t have arrived at a better time… of course. The author talks about all the various ways that divine guidance can manifest. You know, visions, gut feelings, hearing a song with lyrics that speak precisely to your inquiry or situation, a timely run-in with a friend who speaks custom blended words just for you… et cetera. Well I have been wondering my ass off about what to do next. Hawaii? In my courageous moments, I feel pretty rested into the vision of leaping across the Pacific Ocean, Hanuman (our favorite monkey god) style and taking a tropical chill pill, vision quest, writer’s retreat. And then comes a decent sized wave of fear and doubt and knocks me back to Compton. So you can see why I am beseeching All Pervading Off Tha Hookness for the kinds of signs fashioned for over stimulated, city-dwelling dummies such as myself.

This morning in the locker room after my swim, I saw a woman with a cardinal tattooed on her neck. Cardinals are one of my favorite birds. Though they do not call Oakland home, Hawaii is teeming with them. When I see them, I always think of Hawaii. Then the woman with the tattoo mentioned that she was training for a triathlon, which takes place in Maui in a couple of weeks. (she also effervescently confessed that she loves to get drunk and take drugs…) Hmmm… could this be a sign? I hope so. I don’t want to be scared. I don’t like this present moment. I think I’ll just go lose myself in the folds of facebook for an hour or two. I think I’ll just go order a donut or two to mindlessly stuff in my face while I gaze vacuously at photos of all my friend’s babies whom I’ve never even met.

Come on, Athena, pull yourself together. I dunno, maybe it’s good that I’m not such a blabber mouth this morning. Maybe it just means that I’m peaceful. Maybe my mind is the open desert sky. Well… I am actually finding it amusing to keep returning to the page and being transparent in my lack of inspiration. I noticed that I have this desire to impress you and always sound so talented and brilliant. But… sometime I am just a big, hairy gorilla. But my blog is like a live show. Sometimes live action footage is lame. Ha! Fooled you, I’m only human after all.

And then she stared into space for three of the longest minutes in recorded history. What should I talk about? I just went to the bathroom and had a private, wild dance. I thought that would help, but it didn’t. So then I switched seats. Nope. Still nothing. Then I called Mykael so he could save me. Honestly, he came as close as anybody could. He told me that I am a good enough writer that (oooh, the woman next to me just cut the highly crusty corner of her turn-over with a fork. What a sound. It made me think of lions stalking their pray in dry savanna grasses. Dry like deserts. Dry dessert. It may be dry on the outside, but on the inside, remember, it is sloppy wet. I think there is a lesson to be learned here. But I don’t care, I don’t want to learn it. I want to tell you that Mykael validated my desire to show up exactly as I am. He said I am a good enough writer that I can afford a day to play the linguistic fool. So here I am. As I am. Let this be a lesson to ya! Oooh, she just cut the other dry corner of her POPOVER. Doesn’t “popover” sound better than “turn-over”? It sounds so much more dynamic and dangerous. It makes me wonder, did it pop over of its own accord? Or did someone pop it over? I imagine that it popped over all by its self… which makes it a pretty magical, mythological pastry…

After I got off the phone with my personal pan savior, I saw that a woman had made herself at home at MY table, so I decided to sit at the bar. Now I can watch my crushy-crush bleed and toil in the name of caffeinating the universe. He’s wearing a grey t-shirt with black silhouetted airplanes all over the front. They are bigger at the top and they get progressively smaller as they move downward. Talk about profound. Some firemen just came in. What IS it about firemen? They always command my attention. I guess because they drive fire trucks. Big. Shiny. Red. Ever since I took care of Nathan and Max (from the time they were 17 months to three years old)… they were unabashedly passionate about fire trucks, and I became accustomed to making fire truck sightings the center of the universe as a result. Though it’s been like a year and a half since I’ve kicked it with Nathan and Max, I still let my bells be tinkled by the mere sight of a fire truck, and struck with even more force and fever when the big, gruff, strong men wave at little wooing me.

A woman sitting at the other end of the counter just ordered some toast, and she was being all anal about how she wanted it. My dream boat would-be boyfriend was giving her some playful grief about this. I watched him slice the impressively large loaf of acme bread as though it was the most amazing feat ever performed. Man, can he wield a serrated knife! Look out boogie gentlemen and ladies. Damon knows how to slice. Oh NO! The lady’s toast is smoking in the toaster!!! I was so invested in the situation. I told Damon that if I was ordering toast, I’d ask for it double toasted too. Because I’ve seen the toast on most people’s plates and it looks wicky-weak. Hardly toasted at all. I said it gotsta be golden and CRISPY. What’s the point of toast that doesn’t go CRUNCH? What’s the point of anything that doesn’t go crunch, honestly…

When I used to live in the mission in SF, that was one of my favorite past times… stomping on crusty bread and flocks of corn chips abandoned to the gutters and dirty sidewalks. It was one of the modest highlights of my twenties. All else mostly felt hopeless and in shambles, but as long as there was crispy food littering the streets for me to stomp on, I retained enough hope to safe port me to age thirty. I love feeling the crunch resonate in my feet and then reverberate through my entire body as it sings an orchestral song of benign destruction. Cheetos were always a major score! Seriously, they ain’t called “the cheese that goes crunch” for nuttin. But most of the Cheetos spraying the gutters of the mission were the red, fire flavored ones. I guess mission folks have a particular fondness for spice…

I was walking down Piedmont Avenue with a friend last week, and HARK! A generous spread of corn chips! Coincidentally, I was having an existentially busted day… the kind of day ripe for some down home, crunchy food stompin. I descimated every single one of them. And then, miraculously I was free. Talk about medicine for the wrenched soul. Ye-ah!

Well, I survived this blogging session, and I must report that I feel all the better for it. I hope you do too.

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Adam
    May 28, 2010 @ 19:10:36

    In Your Eyes
    I see the eyes of somebody who could be strong,
    tell Me if Im wrong?
    Now Im pulling your disguise up…
    am I free or am I tied up?
    I change shape just to hide in this place where I stand,
    Cause Im still, and animal,
    and when I sleep, I dream, I cant hide from Myself,
    That Im still an Animal

    Beautiful Athena!
    Thank you for the sunshine this morning!
    Gratitude for your free flow of positive expression.
    To succeed in revealing your inner workings in a real way, is inspiring.

    Peace to you,
    Don’t Hesitate!
    Adam

    Reply

  2. Rosy Moon
    May 31, 2010 @ 22:23:28

    L.O.L.!!!!! Crunchy foot stomping food savior of existential dread!!!! Hahaha. You, my dear, are unique and even when uninspired, you do rock the page. Thank you, again for the smile of delirium and amusement that your writing guarantees. 😉

    Reply

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