Mojoless

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Photo by Anderson Miranda from Pexels

I survived the block party. No bug bites. Perhaps a little more alcohol than planned. Loosened lips – sunken ships. I didn’t make any (new) enemies.

My neighbor out my window must be having a party, there were at least 5 cars in the driveway, until the hot metallic red one just left. It’s time to make dinner, but I’m still visiting with you. It’s all leftovers from yesterday anyway.

I’ve fallen into a rut. Reading through the first series of Ezzie, I see how she’s changed. She’s almost a decade older, and she’s living in America away from her friends. It seems she has stopped seriously thinking about finding a man, but that could be her rebellion against the succubus that clings to her. She’s depressed and hasn’t had a manic episode in a while. She’s discovered that she can wander around outside her body, and even fly, if she is bored or daydreaming, but she doesn’t understand all that she is learning. She may never understand it.

The other part of the rut is here. I’m blogging about my life, instead of blasting out the detritus from my brain. That explains today’s haiku: Coincidence?

Like Ezzie, I’ve lost my mojo. Time to go looking for it.

We’ll, after I’ve made dinner.

Listless

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Listless, [list-lis] a, Without a list.

Huh? 

Well, I was without a list today, figuratively. I went all day without writing today’s haiku, and I didn’t have any idea what it would be about until I started it. Even then, I reversed the order of the lines before I posted it. It makes more sense this way, but I probably like it better the original way: The blues

I’m still thinking about writing some Ezzie episodes, so I’ve drawn a card for today:

4 of Swords, Truce. Refuge from mental chaos.

There are other interpretations, but that’s the one I’ll choose. In fact, I’m so rested that nothing is happening in my brain, not even the S-word. That’s me without a list, without meaning, running on a treadmill, never-ending. That should be a good thing, but today it means I’m without my mental faculties. I thrive on that chaos. I AM CHAOS! I need that anxiety, the rough and tumble, the sex obsession. All the plates have stopped spinning. Mush brain, that’s me – Jello that hasn’t quite set, oozing off the spoon, and disappointing the children. I haven’t even got the brain cells to give this paragraph the full Ezzie.

By the way, the second book of Ezzie is here, but it is in reverse order.

I’m supposed to be writing

Big Red by scarletsuede

Fun Anne seems to be AWOL at the moment.

You might argue that I am writing, but this doesn’t count. I wanted to write some poetry this week and maybe spend some time on one of my novels that never seem to finish. Maybe I’m a little ADD, but I can never focus on what I’m supposed to. Yesterday, I read the entirety of what I’ve written of The Fantastical Adventures of S-69 Lost, which is one sentence into Chapter X or 26.7K words.

Maybe I’ll read Out of the Frying Pan next. That’s a mere 22.5K words. Of course, I should be finishing and then rewriting The Cult of Hahn which stands at 78.7K words. It has one small gap and one large one left to bridge as well as a lot of prefatory psuedo-bibilical verse, and then a major rewrite of the whole thing. I’m not sure I feel up to that now.

The titles may change by the time I publish – if I publish. And, of course, my short story collection The Veil of Sheera and other Tales need at least one more edit. It’s nearly ready for KDP, but I need a suitable cover image, and I can’t afford to buy rights to a photo, since the book won’t earn more than a few pennies. Short story collections have exactly zero market. I might be able to sell a few to devoted followers here or The Cult of Anne, my writing website (see the sidebar for a link), or on the WritersCafe.org, where a lot of my work as well as samples of the novels live.

My inspiration has left the building.

Nudity

Blarney Castle by freejay3

In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m obsessed with nudity. I’m not a nudist, nor do you necessarily want to see me nude. When I’m home alone in the summer, I’m not adverse to sitting at home in front of the computer in the buff. (Webcam definitely disabled!) I find it freeing sleeping nude under the ceiling fan on a hot summer night. I have A/C, but it just isn’t the same.

I like writing about people thrust into a situation where they are unable to hide under clothing – the embarrassment (Cult of Hahn), or the eventual acceptance of it (Out of the Frying Pan) . I even have a girl who is much like I would be, stuck in a remote mansion, never seeing anyone – ever – Yes, I would be working in the garden with nothing on (Intolerance).

Do I want to see you nude? Probably not, especially not the spam emails of girls wanting to get to know me. They are always girls, aren’t they. I don’t want to see their pics either. I would rather dream of you nude, and titillate you with the prospect of nudity, but not necessarily sex. I do think of sex a lot, and I like thinking about it, but I’m not asking you for it.

So … what am I writing about here? Is it a rant or manifesto. Maybe the latter.

I’m just in one of those moods.

Post Holiday Blues

I ain’t singin’ the blues, mate. I got ’em. It’s been almost two weeks since I last posted here, and well, I just can’t get going again. I’m back at work, and although I have loads to do, I’m doing some serious procrastination. I’m doing things around the house, playing with my new phone … anything to keep me from doing that which earns money.

I haven’t even worked at all on my new novel, which shall remain nameless, because, well, it is. The original title doesn’t fit anymore. I’m about 20,000 words into it. I also haven’t touched The Cult, except to read a little of the last chapter I was working on, to see if it started the juices flowing.

I guess I’m just juice free right now.