Chamber the Catridge

I've listened to Rise Against's album "The Sufferer and the Witness". I never used to like it but now I listen to it ever second album. I've taken up what a friend does and have started listening to albums as opposed to songs. It's kind of weird having to listen to tracks that you would normally skip over. It gives you a certain appreciation for what you once spurned.

It's also odd listening to the song at full volume and then pausing it. You come back and suddenly your ears are besieged with noise. None of the songs are particularly poignant. Like Panic! At the Disco I ascribe meaning to what they sing. This is just fast and loud. Rise Against sing about animal cruelty and suicide and stuff and support many good causes but to me their music will only ever be something to listen to when I feel bad or angry. It's unfair on their music, but I can't ascribe the meaning they meant to it.

I suppose that's a symptom of it being hard rock. That's all Hard Rock has ever been to me.

I want to write something heartfelt and that shows my vocabulary and shows something about me. But I can't write. The past few weeks I've tried. I've really tried but I can't write like I used to. I could spend hours ironing out characters and places and events and story lines. But now I just sit there and start writing nothing and everything. It's gone from saving the world and defeating evil to seeing if you can spell another word with the letters in "Penis". I feel immature and sad and also incredibly angry at myself. What happened to me? What robbed me of my silver tongue? Why can't I write? WHY CAN'T I WRITE!?

I've lost my last retreat. I can't even fall back on the wolds I create. It was said once in a movie called Inkheart "Being a writer can be perilous. Eventually you prefer the company of the worlds you create to the one you live in." Well now I can't even live in a world that I control when things go wrong. I can't create, I can't destroy. What i'd thought of is just stuck in my mind. Staying still never moving. Trapped where I left them last. It's worse than murder. It's living what's only happened rather than moving forward, even if when moving forward you look back.

I feel sorry for the characters I've invented. I'm sorry that despite what complexities I made in your character I could never give anyone a happy ending. I couldn't give you an ending at all.

In the name of the Emperor, Finish this! (If I only I could)