The Monologue

Have you ever had the feeling that you had much to say, but wasn’t sure how to say it?  The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, but some crucial aspect of your psyche has lost its function… Emotions are stirred up, creativity turned up, but vocals muted.  Manifestation of the inner vision 21 gun saluted, passed out of your body like you pooted, no matter if you’re the shrewdest, the lack of flow makes you wonder if you actually can do it… Its rather ironic.  One minute you’re runnin’ off at the mouth like flash or sonic, and the next you’re struggling for diction like you need to be hooked on phonics.  Turn the music up loud, to drown out your inner sound.  Engage the other senses like intense wedding vows.  No dice.  And how!  Insides screaming, heart double time beating, on a cadence to a metronome only your expressive side is feeling… Nothing would be more pleasing than to let it escape!  And so you sit at the computer, or stare at a blank page… Hoping, pressing, commanding your mind to cause this drive to take on verbal shape.  Let’s examine the environment… A lamp shade in the corner… A stain on the coffee table… Smoldering ashes in the firepit… A ghetto antenna made of some spare wire tips… Nada.  Zip.  Zilch.  Zero.  Epic fail.  Lousy one liners blowin out your hole, like some kind of whale.  Love.  Everybody loves love.  … There is no greater love than that which is chanced upon by the open mind.  No more potent love than that which has no duplicates for any to find.  For true love is unique to the two brought under the shade of its branches.  It whispers its own tune, moving only these two, to harmonic dancing… Ah scrap it.  That’s it and you’ve had it!  Sure it might be artistic, but it does not deactivate the siren inside labeled “Red Button – Panic!”  What you want to say, you may never express, and should tomorrow clone today, then… well let’s not add unnecessary stress.  But you are pressed.  Like an iron to a cloth.  Like fire to silver, the dross must come off.  So you shrug it off.  Knowing not what you’ll say, but darned to say something.  Freestyle dancing on the page, getting wild, straight krumping.  You’re sure others may think you are a loony… Bugs Bunny, or Daffy, or maybe even Disney like Goofy… But perhaps – there is at least one person out there.  One who can empathize.  Someone sitting on the stairs, hoping verbal expression will stop driving by.  Maybe this is the vehicle that other stranded folk can board… Go ahead and hop in – our clueless-ness is our sword.

 

 

 

~The Wordsmith

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By Joshua Evans Posted in Musings

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