2010-06-01 - 8:13 p.m.

It's a good time to resume this weird, semi-anonymous, black and white outlet, now that I am going through an existential crisis of the writing kind. It's all because, I think, I've begun to take myself too seriously, and have lost the fun, the zip and zing, the fuck-it-just-write attitude of longer days. These days, it matters what I write, everything matters, and I save it all, pore through it for inspiration, forge stories and poems and then stamp them, completed, add them to the completed poems/stories list. Still, your best work is done when you don't care if you are doing your best work, when you are playing with the pen, flipping it up in the air and catching it. Relentless writing exercises force you to sift through a lot of crap: endless lists of adjectives that add up to nothing with substance, short stories crafted after modern masters whose styles seep with tedium, lines of poems that unravel when you pull at the strings. Ball it up and shove it down your throat, there is nothing left anyway, forget what your work is like, just write. Get back to observations tiny as bugs, moments that shine only briefly and may fail to fill an entire page. Your only option is to write.