Apologies and Excuses

I believe the title says it all.
I have been suffering from an acute case of AIDS (Assignment Induced Deep Stress- term courtesy Dr.Thyme; the 'Stress' may be replaced by 'S**t' whenever/wherever applicable)which successfully dammed any creative impulse which survived the onslaught of two years of intense academics. To cut a long and infinitely uninteresting story short: 'writers block' was merely one of the bricks in the colossal pyramid entombing my creative powers.

If this were a marginally fairer world, this post would signal a golden era of increased creativity. Sadly we live in our world. The AIDS (now definitely 'S**t'), has developed complications in the form of rashes of exams and scabs of paperwork which does nothing to dissolve the block in the creative-vascular tissues.

Ah but why do I do this? Why mar your pristine face with the pimples of my failings. I try yet again to fashion a form from the flaky earth of my fancy and all that rises is a the slow static dust of intention that weighs down in your lungs, making you cough up intermittent puffs of that forgotten thing called Soul. I raise my hands, poise my fingers over the board, but gravity and grace fail me. That swell which once rose into your bosom, carrying you upwards until you are balanced joyously on the crest of the wave from which you are not afraid to fall: That glorious swell is now merely a confused trickle too lost to actually make its way out. It is not a void. Rather it is full to bursting: I can hear the voices, sense their scent, feel the hum and the sizzle of the radioactive presence. But, like figures behind a veil, these formless somethings refuse to materialise.I seem to have forgotten the way to that 'Away' that we all draw from.

It was Coleridge who perhaps best expressed this incredible loneliness. Bereft of the words that have always been your friends, what are you left with? What can you believe in? Where do you search to find a vanished door? Faith spins lugubriously, suspended on the gossamer thread of hope and I remember why I began writing this post. They say everything returns if you call it enough. I keep calling with the desperate hope that what is hiding will reveal itself soon. After all, '...if winter comes, can Spring be far behind.'