hell if i know...

as many of my longtime readers know, i had stepped away from regular blogging for a few months. i'm thinking it was a combination of cynicism, grief, and lack of inspiration that did it. things got a bit hectic late last year. between offline impending loss and internet drama and the larger audience, i started to feel as though i was losing sight of why i chose to blog. in the end, i do it because i love to express myself as creatively and candidly as possible. i absolutely love writing, all of the little things that make it possible...from sitting in my car and looking out the sunroof to witness a beautiful sunset and thinking to myself "how would i write that into existence for someone who couldn't see it?" before i turned off the radio and drove in silence, putting together phrases to describe it.

what does the sun taste like? is it a peeled orange i pierce with my teeth until the pulp bursts and the juices squirt and dribbles down my chin? or does it taste like lambent rage? a bitter fruit of smoldering vexation burning a path of acrid hatred down my throat before settling into an intolerant ulcer in my stomach? could i suck on it until it was flaccid and empty of sunlight or anger?

if i touch it, will it pebble like an erect nipple? does it weigh substantial like a scrotum if i hold it? if i run my fingers over it, will it secrete heat?

how come i'm always think about sex?!?

or when i'm talking to a friend on the phone and i exclaim "he did WHAT? oh, i GOTTA write about that..." and then i've got all kinds of scenarios in my head on how i'd re-tell this story about the guy who got married but went to his ex-girlfriend hoping the ex would rent a car for him, this despite the fact that brotha don't have a valid drivers license...and he's served time for drug trafficking...and he plans to use the car to go out of town for 'business'...i mean, YOU CAN'T MAKE THAT SHIT UP.

or like last night when i checked lebron and his masterful play against the pistons. i thought of all kinds of things while watching him...

what is that brotha feeling right now? is it a combination of desperation and fear? did he make the conscious decision to break through that wall to take those shots? did he consciously decide to take the game into his own hands, to put his team on his shoulders to lead them to victory? or was he just driven by ego? is he spilling over with adrenaline? is he choking on the fear he won't be able to come through?

i started looking at him abstractly, a form haphazardly illustrated with lines both fluid and furious, racing across a backdrop of blurred images exploding in sound, shadows trying to impede his progress with flaying arms and focused fingers. it was like i had stepped outside of the moment and into the emotions and the words that would describe those emotions.

that make sense?

shit it rarely does to me, so i would understand if it makes no sense to you.

writing is more than an activity for me. it's like i've eaten the experiences and the enzymes breaks them down into molecules of moments before the esophagus massages the messages to the surface in preparation for the stomach where they're then bathed in awareness. as the molecules are further broken down into consonants and vowels and pulled into my bloodstream, they form the nutrients that will ultimately feed my imagination, becoming platelets of sentences that will later spill from various orafices throughout my body in clots of creative expresson (or phrases of fecal matter, depending upon whom you ask...)

i don't just see or hear the words, i feel them, taste them, touch them like they were something i held in my hands and brought to my nose to inhale before rubbing them against my lips and licking off the letters, swallowing their intent.

i don't know how the words come or why they come or even if they're supposed to come, i'm only glad i've got at the very least the eagerness and patience to stroke them until they do.

how come i'm always thinking about sex?!?

i really need to find a new word to use other than 'come'...'occur' maybe?