Stop Writing

So, I haven’t actually written a blog, blog in a long time, but I guess today is as good a day as any to start. I keep hearing the voice in the back of my head saying “blogs are for self-obsessed people” and why would you want a “diary” online?”

So, the blog is about how I’m going to stop writing for a while.

This is how it is.

Listen to music, now. Actually listen.

Read something without a thought of regurgitation.

Enjoy the day without analysis.

Divorce my need for validation via writing.

Why is the ego so wrapped up in it?

Why did Rothke repaint the same picture over and over again.

I was told I was writing the same thing over and over again.

True.

Same form, same images, same ideas.

I’m a broken mixed tape.

I found a form and now it’s overdone. My form is a cliche. I need to break out.

I don’t even know what any of that means.

Perhaps it’s because I have begun to hate writing.

Perhaps it’s called being burnt out.

If I don’t have a novel, stacks of pages, by the time I’m 26, I’ll certainly throw myself out the window.

Or, that’s what you’d think by how much I have become dependent on work.

So, I’m going to try and STOP writing.

No more attempts at poems.

No more attempts at blogs.

No more attempts at weighing my day’s productiveness on the page.

But I’m scared.

What am I supposed to do now?

Find a new form, she said. Break out. I’ve overused my current form.

What does that even mean?

Jackson Pollock, essentially, painted the same thing over and over again.

Why can’t I write the same poem?

It’s done.

I’m done. Need to see a movie or read.

No, reading is off limits. Too much in the mind.

I need to get out of the mind.

We’ll see how long this lasts.

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