Blocked

So…how was your weekend? Things were low and slow around El Casa Móvil De Pennington this weekend, but there’s absolutely nothing unusual about that. It’s always low and slow around these parts and it’s news when it isn’t. Low and slow.

I am experiencing something rather unusual, though… a massive case of writer’s block (WB). Every so often I’ll get a minor case of WB, events where my words just don’t look right to me, or instances where I’ll pound out three drafts of the same post and ultimately reject all three before moving on to something else. It happens to everybody, in greater or lesser degrees. But this case of WB is different, in that I look at my usual sources and don’t see a damned thing I think is worth commenting on, or posting about. Or, to be somewhat clearer, I don’t have anything to say about the things I see. There are alternatives to musing over the news and one of my alternatives is the usual, customary and (sometimes) reasonable re-telling of a war story. But that doesn’t seem to be working, either. My fickle Muse has apparently decamped and left me wondering what the Hell is going on here. Maybe she (my Muse) hooked up with Lin’s Muse and the two of them are out gallivanting around dusty northern New Mexico honky-tonks, flirting with the cowboys, showing a little leg, and getting said cowboys’ hopes up. But she sure as Hell has left ME high and dry… the bitch.

There were times past when that ol’ bugaboo WB would literally scare the livin’ BeJeezus out of me, times when writing was my rice-bowl, I was on deadline, it was 0230 hrs in the morning before a big piece was due and… nothing. That kinda thing is really scary, Gentle Reader, and the current case of WB is a nit by comparison. We’re not talking about continuing employment here, after all. It’s just a blog.

But I miss my Muse.

―:☺:―

Here’s one small item, just to save this post from being a pure whine. Today is June 30^th, and such is the title— “June 30^th, June 30^th” — of one of my favorite books of poetry by Richard Brautigan. Here are two examples of the 77 poems you'll find at the “June 30^th” link:

"Cat in Shinjuku"
A brown cat lies
in front of a Chinese restaurant
in a very narrow lane
in Shinjuku.*

The window of the restaurant is
filled with plastic models
of Chinese food that look good
enough to eat.

The afternoon sun is pleasantly
warm. The cat
is enjoying it.

People walk by, very close to the cat
but the cat shows absolutely no fear.
It does not move.
I find this unusual.
The cat is happy
in front of plastic Chinese
food with real food
waiting just inside the door.

Tokyo
The middle of May, 1976

*a large district in Tokyo

"Taking No Chances"
I am a part of it. No,
I am the total but there
is also a possibility
that I am only a fraction
of it.

I am that which begins
but has no beginning.
I am also full of shit
right up to my ears.

Tokyo
June 17, 1976

Brautigan wrote “June 30^th, June 30^th” while in Japan in 1976 and the book was published in 1978. There are multiple coincidences in play here… first of all, Brautigan and I shared the same geographical space (Japan generally, and Tokyo, specifically) when he wrote these poems. Second, The Second Mrs. Pennington and I met during this time frame, and Brautigan published this book the year we were married. Third, TSMP and I shared a love of most things Japanese, so Brautigan’s observations were of great interest and brought joy to both of us, even given the fact he was (still is) one of my favorites. And finally… Brautigan’s been dead for quite some time now… as has my love affair with Japan, among other things.

It’s still nice to remember, though.

―:☺:―

Today’s Pic: TSMP and I in a Tokyo sushi bar, December, 1991.