"You two talk?"

Issa is outwriting me lately.

And no, I'm not suggesting that it shouldn't be this way. She writes very well, although I'm somehow still not used to imagining her do poetry. Maybe it's because I always saw her as this fun, crazy girl with deep interests. Her blog entries are often very random, but not as random as some of mine are.

Well, that's exactly my point. Lately I've been writing very random stuff, cobbling together awkward concepts and presenting them as metaphors. On the other hand, she's been on an inspired streak lately, doing this and this and this, leaving me wondering: why have I not been inspired lately?

It's been a while since I had that sort of streak, that feeling when everything just comes together the moment you start working your fingers. It always happens in May, I said, but this time around it didn't. July? I thought so. There's this and this and this. But as much as I appreciate the purpose of frustration, of not being happy where you are, sometimes it just gets, well, frustrating, the fact that you can't put them into words anymore like you used to. It no longer occurs to you over lunch, as a mental outline, as a series of points that connect to each other for some reason. Left off forgotten, mostly.

Lately what Lizette told me (almost) exactly a couple of years ago has been echoing in my head. "How many times do I have to tell you that I like how you write? If only you would rant less, I would like your writing better." Exactly. I always shove my life down people's throats and nobody appreciates it, as much as I try to paint it pink and call it as proper city discipline. On the other hand, my best entries don't come from whether I've decided to use an expletive against back row citizen number three, but from whether it's an observation that comes from a genuinely happy moment, pretty much what Issa's been doing at the moment. Oh, how much I miss those days, when there's always a silver lining in your troubles, which are shallow to begin with. And now, it's all the same, only intensified, somewhere along the lines of insignificance.

And there it goes, me ranting again.

And your responses...

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