writer’s block 2

i'm there. at the writer's block. i don't know where it is exactly or at what hour in the dead of midday i arrived here but, i got to say it does feel like i'm somewhere in my mind, i just don't know where it is exactly.
oh, yeah, that's right. i'm no where in particular.
a mishmash of thoughts and ideas speed the byways of my head, transcient blurs of supposed imaginary brilliance. they come as fast as they go. and oh, boy do they come.
and oh, man, do they come.
and go. swooshing past me. like the wind that pffts past my ears lift me up as if i'm flying. but not really.
i am still here. still wondering where i am, in the middle of something but really no where in particular.
it's actually no bigger than my office cubicle. elevated to some effect, made of solid concrete. i can't describe it that well, for there is nothing really to describe. nothing really to see.
partly because right here, on this block, i am toatlly color blind. but am very sensitive to shade.
come to think of it, it's really closer to dark gray than most grays i've seen. not that i'm being totally vague or totally pointless, but i may have just lost a perfectly fine line of thought.
or maybe i didn't and it was just there all this time. only untouchable. immaterial.
immaterial, irrelevant. a blank slate. a pure canvass. unadulterated thingy.
nothing to see there. nothing really there, wherever the hell there may be.
 
oh, man, i'm lost. i've lost it.
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