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2003-05-29 - 4:52 p.m.
I was a better writer when I wasn't so bored.
Under-stimulated, I over-eat and write the same sentence again and again trying to ignite a spark.
The matches are wet.
And trips to Thailand, conversations with friends, new books and ideas have failed to dry them out.
Strike, fizzle. Strike, fizzle. Strike strike strike.
Oh, muse, where art thou?
And why the fuck won't you come back?
Maybe the muse is sick of being around me, I sure am.