Tales;Moving the block

Writers block, a usually temporary psychological inability to begin or continue work on a piece of writing.Urban Dictionary. It has been a minute y’all.

I have locked myself in this little space (someone will imagine its a one roomed house or maybe a corner at the workplace, just stop imagining. It exists with me alone). Oblivious of what is happening around me (not even the NASA JUBILEE woes). The TV is on and I can hear Sponge-bob talking to Squidward. Today they don’t interest me. On my normal day, I would burn water in the sufuria trying catch up with the mischief at the Pacific’s Ocean,Bikini Bottom. Today I feel like Squidward Tentacles. Spongebob’s childlike noise has triggered my arrogant part. My eyes aren’t fixed to the screen so the slapstick shit doesn’t tickle me at all. My certainty is there is no talking spongy thing at the pacific.

The reason for all these rantings is tied to the fact that I have lost my writing mojo. I cant figure out if it has slipped through the precise spaces left on my laptops keyboard or the ever merciless back space that readily slices every little prose I come up with.i mean, how do i explain the number of words this button has murdered?. Peeping through these cracks all I see is some black space with bits of dust in it (how do you clean that?). My touch pad is clean. It has embraced my touch for the longest time thanks to corel. Corel spoils your prose. No. I makes me want to RGB & CMYK documents, it makes me want to give titles that end up with logo or separation or draft at the end. This is not what I learn in class. Three years of “loneliness” with corel has led to this. That partner who only respects you because you follow all the vector rules and have developed pantones that guide you through the color selection process. If you ask me, am not quitting on a relationship I build for two years. Forever corel. Can I blame my writers block some addictive graphic software? You tell me.

There is something about waking up at three am to do some writing and then go back to sleep because you lost the plot. I call it laziness, some call it the “what nots”. Crazy thinkers will describe it as showing a great lack of intelligence or common sense, stupidity. Laziness can be one mean word so maybe I shouldn’t beat myself up. Who gives two shits anyway? That something that comes close to writing insomnia only that you write things that mean nothing or compared to your class seven composition, you would get a whooping zero two just because you used a pen. Not that the grammar you wrote is bad, but the amount of confused words used matches the value of writing insomnia. When I use insomnia in a sentence,the words psychiatric and unhealthy conditions make part of the thoughts I have. I end up wondering, why on earth would I have have unhealthy conditions when I have a whole world of eBooks and articles in my head and some crazy slapstick.(Does Loud House and Alvin and the chipmunks  have slapstick? The really glue my bottom to the seat.)

Word count, 498. Paragraph? On the fourth. The world wants precise articles. Keeping up with all my thoughts in a limited number of words makes me want to poke holes on the internet lovers .Again i blame us (writers). We so much write our world forgetting there is a reader in another world who will stop where your started. Sad story. Am not one of those guys who will stay under the radar only to resurface with seven part novel that talks about a whole world existing somewhere between my ears-which ends up being defined artistically with silk lines,Flash..At least, not yet. How did it feel for a ninja up like C.S.Lewis when he did released his series of seven high fantasy novels, selling over 100 million copies in 47 languages? How about the fact that he did it each year from 1950-1956? Those were a couple of years where magic, mythical beasts and talking animals were the order of the day. Literature lovers of that day were super blessed.Not even Big Sean’s hit blessing on blessings can describe that. Chronicles of Narnia. The ultimate doze of literature hungry children.(at least I know Mr. Lewis target children but I still wonder, at 23, why am I still going back to these books? Why? Somebody please?). Did I just loose my thoughts? Dang it!

Ngong hills. 2460metres (8070 feet) above sea level. I am around two ladies. The rest of the group has pulled ahead. They have the psyche to conquer the rugged terrain. One of the beautiful lasses is walking like its some wedding day and she is the bride, ‘kona baridi’ is the groom. Here she comes. Nature forces me to hold her hand as we walk up. (A pleasing site people! That’s what we men want, to be in charge and look cool doing it.) My thoughts are not anywhere close to these beauties. I am at peak of constructing paragraphs, thoughts, ideas, stories for my comeback. I want to talk about this hike in my blog. I am still at the point where there is no clue if I will take the third person plural or first person singular in the observing mode. Sentences are drooping. Words are flowing,murkily. Something is lacking, sense. I want to take out my cracked phone and note a few points. It happens. Then nature says, “you are on a hike brother! Keep that electronic thing back in your pocket!” what a better way to do that than blow a strong wind that literally knocks beauty off balance.The wind must have transmitted enough vibration to the tympanum via the ossicles to make this wonderful scene. Awkward moment when you have to choose between your phone ( brothers you know how it feels, right) and a beautiful female species from the homo sapiens community. Shit gets real.

At first, I told myself that this writers block saga will stop. I still believe I have to stop it or else kill another passion. Again, I wonder when will it come? How will it use its Jedi sword to cut through the word wars in me and get me to the stars.

This is me moving the block.

Enough of me.

Writers block.

Erick Ashihundu.