He asked what was stopping me, I got that thing where my mind doesn't exactly go blank, not like a meditative state, but draws up an image of a blank page. Its in a book with a stiff spine, about the size of a Penguin edition, one of those nicely designed series on English Journeys or whatever. My mind flicks through with it's hands, a bit Michel Gondry, I look at the pages and the spine is too stiff, and I'm suddenly back in the room, can't remember my word my point my problem.
What's stopping me, is not an easy answer. I came up with idle chat, not being surrounded by active people and work. It's closer to bad spirits, low motivation, a lack of being able to see the point in things. Oh woe is me what a very old problem. The point in things! I am usually fine for the first couple of hours of a day, and then reason sets in and I get heavy. I want to be light and full of potential, but seem to weigh it down with my creating of things not being that essential really. If I don't make an idea, no-one cares! Me, make something! For the past year or so it's been more than enough thank you to merely have an idea, never mind execute it! That brings so many more problems.
I don't know if I will make the show. I don't want to flake out, but seeing the blog I feel like I don't have things to formally present yet. I'm holding torches for old post-trendy ideas, and sadly will have to let them go. I'm sparking with new thoughts when I'm free and full of potential, then weighing them down with sandbags withing my seven day rolling repetition, always waiting for the elation of Saturday post-shift, then sad again at the close of Sunday, another week of the same ahead, a dull dread. You need to cultivate an environment for change.
Writing has been difficult for this past week. I realised the blog is only really interesting when I am. Interested. Disatisfied, bored, confused, sad does not make a good story. I need to go back to my ideas. I don't feel strong to create and be new. I don't feel refreshing. I feel flat and stale again. The School was a miracle cure, a zesty upturn to things. I wanted a revolution but guess what, I'm still me. No running from that. I wanted to be able to answer his question, sat in the present of the past, like normal, but a new version. I felt sad and stuck, and didn't think the answer was looking backwards, but I can't see forwards either. Feeling the need to personify my motivation again, not a good feeling.