...

In order to write I have to have the perfect mix of alcohol and coffee. And due to tolerance and other factors that perfect mix changes day to day. I feel like there is a chunk missing from me. That I'm capable of so much more but because of this handicap I'm obstructed. I feel like a boy in a 27 year old's body. I have ideas but no way to deliver them. I fear the path I'm on is sending me in the direction of a wasted life. Everyday I waste while wondering what I should be doing.  It pains me to see those who have figured it out. The couples on the subway. My friends getting Broadway roles. The managers at my work who are younger than me. I pass by a bar in Chelsea and spy a group of friends chatting over beers. Why is this beyond me? I feel stilted and stunted. Neglected and subdued. I'm falling. And the only thing I know how to do anymore is fall deeper.

Song:
Hello
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYQBptoNvp0

When I Sit to Write - A poem -

Blank and white;
emptiness taunts.
I'm numb and absent,
but only when I sit to write.

A walk through the city
or a trudge at work
The emotions can cripple,
but evaporate when I sit to write.

Brown, the color of my tools;
crystals brewed in an instant,
or spirits in bottles,
increasingly ineffective as I sit to write.

As a hungry child;
inspiration simmered.
A ratatouille of dreams
begging to be perfected.

Now an adult;
emaciated and exhausted.
Doubt consumes,
if I fail when I sit to write.


Today's song by Freelance Whales
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUQIRh5jkYI

Miracles.

This may end up in a play I'm writing.

      "I don't get to be myself very often. Some people by nature are celebrated for being themselves. Others are ostracized and crucified for it. Being myself has gotten me into trouble and forsaken. As a general rule, people tend not to be interested in what I find interesting. So I usually sit back, jump into my head and I wonder. Why am I so different? What am I doing wrong? Will this ever change? Will I ever be valued for my personality rather than my work ethic?
    Then there is you. Who I am most guarded around, who I'm most sensitive to. Men who decry their deepest vulnerability,  that they like you, are rejected for it. I am like them. I would lie on top of you all night listening to the working of mind will soothing to the rhythm of your heart beat.
     Part of me believes there is a chance you not only would accept me for all my aloof eccentricities, but would cherish me for them.  There is a hint of a feeling that might be the case. But the part of me that believes that is the same part of me that believes in destiny and God. And when I take a step back and look at the suffering of the world, I want to chastise myself for ever putting stock in that absurdity. Cause you and me would be a miracle. And I don't believe in miracles."

Today's Song: Dire Straits
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XVVZPefbR4&feature=related