But then again..

Hops are stagnant for a while... Right?

I mean, think about it. Then you get really good beer.

Or really crappy beer I suppose.

Ive grown stagnant.

Unwilling to write anything, its pathetic.
The worst part is that it's for no good reason. The only one that comes to mind is laziness, and that's never a good reason for anything.
I'd blame it on the issues in my life, but then I'd be exposing myself. And we can't have that can we? It would also make it sound like I'm whining. And that would be unacceptable wouldn't it?
The reason doesn't change the fact that I am in fact, stagnant. No movement in this brain as far as writing goes, and it really is sad.
I catch myself in moments at times, in the car. Or in the bathtub. Or even in places as peculiar as long winded stories being told by someone I'm not too fond of.
But I catch myself thinking of an idea or a story. I find myself passionately thinking it over and giving all of my creative energy in that moment. But something normally happens that knocks my top off of its axis. A conversation, a joke, or an argument.

...and I forget what I wanted to write about.

'gets behind laptop and begins to type'

How. To. Write better.

Hah. Perfect. Enter is pushed, search is made, and absolutely no help was found.

Writing exercises. Overpriced books.
Justkeepwritingjustkeepwriting
Blahbaddyblahblah.

That's what I'm doing. I'm just writing yo.

The pickled pony picked a fight with Peter pan and Tinkerbell.
He had no clue or understanding, of what's inside a wishing well.

Inside he fell and there he lay.
His body cold and stern.
The eyes that once were staring towards the eyes of enemies and nords.
The legs that killed off many lives were motionlessly firm.



Ignore this last silly brainfart, thanks!

We're driving out of San Francisco.

And I can't say I left my heart there. I mean, it was nice. But it's not something I'd fall in love with.
It's a pity, but I felt that way at one point. I felt like I loved it. But I realize now that all my love towards that city was based on my childhood memories. And as it seems to be, it's my childhood that I love.
The city hasn't changed, really. The people have.
The buildings have too, a bit. But it's still San Francisco, you see. San Francisco is still what you call it.

I love reading the writings of others about this city. Others, who unlike myself, didn't get to see it in its present state.

Traffic

What should I say about traffic.
It's big, it's busy, it's loud.
What should you do when you're in it?
Jam to some tunes, or stare at the clouds?

Maybe I'll wave to a stranger.
Maybe their life is in danger.
Maybe their kids are such little brats,
And all they do is sit there and pout.
Maybe by seeing someone's face smile
Their own can be brought up, and out.

I have this issue.

I have a moment in a day, in which I'm perfectly clear. My mind has a thought and I need to write it down, right?

Yeah, well I start writing and then I'm like, "Yeah, this is crap."
So one of two things happens.
Either I do the usual, and just quit.

Yeah, like erase, not save, screw it all, close, quit, effyew.

OR, I start writing in rhyme. Which was what the last post was. It was about all of my beloved scoundrels who live in Washington state.
They all have beautiful faces with beautiful instagrams with beautiful pictures of beautiful scenery.

           and I always get jealous so..........

Sorry, this was more or less a brain fart. Actually an experiment and test. I'm forcing myself not to delete this.

HAH! 

.... 

Fine I'll click Publish.

Envy

I envy the ones

who live in the hills.

I envy their eyeballs

and all they take in.

They live in the green.

I live in a plate.

They drink fancy coffee.

While mine's always plain.

They go to their beaches,

they dance on their cliffs.

They hashtag and comment

all full of what-ifs.

Oh, the places I'd go.

If given the chance.

The people I'd hug, 

the laughs that I'd laugh.

The mist that hugs

the tops of the hills.

The hiking boots, sweater.

Hot coffee, cheap thrills.

We're all just like fish.

In not-so-dense water.

All have what we need.

All still hot and bothered.