Where's the boy with the chemicals?

[sovay]

Here we have the obligatory writer's sulk.

I went to bed early, because I'm several days underslept, overdosed on human company, and slightly feverish; and I'm still awake, because my brain is stalled out. I have a photograph that my father asked me to write about, a quotation from H.D., and a quotation from T.S. Eliot. I can feel how they all fit together. (The working title is "The Salt House.") I've got no words. So I'm set to "creative," but there's nothing there: this is very frustrating.

It smells like burning tires outside. There are periodic male shouts and high-pitched female laughter. I can only hope this means the fraternities across the street are engaged in some sort of exciting sacrificial ritual that will thin their numbers and leave fewer impediments to my sleep on the weekends, but I rather doubt it.

Alas.

Comments

[clarionj.livejournal.com]

I agree with all the tips/responses given here already, but my reaction when I read the post was that you've already written something. Just this-- this complaint, admission, question--is evocative, starting with the heading (now I'm singing Bright Eyes), to the suggestion of a photo to go with H.D. and Eliot (jeez, that has me going), the tires burning, and the wonderful way only you can ask for sleep. Any chance you'd post the quotations? Oh, that's okay. I can pull a book from my shelf.

[sovay]

H.D. and Eliot

H.D.'s "The Shrine" (from Sea Garden, 1916) and Eliot's "East Coker" (from Four Quartets, 1945)—at least in my head, they go together.

Thank you.