  I feel tapped on the blog. Happens every once in a while; the vigor of personal enlightenment dissipates, leaving this site a venerable wasteland of quips and short, pointless thoughts.
My mind is not at rest; I started writing on a screenplay for the first time, my first honest work in at least six weeks. The idea consumes me, chews at me, throws me poignant moments and thought-provoking instances, and includes one of the stronger plot-based stories I've conceived.
It doesn't provoke positive emotions, or make people get up and conquer the world, which was the reason I got into writing in the first place. It provokes questions. It causes disattached wonder. It's too hard to get on the blog, and too easy to live right now. I wake up, grab a relaxed breakfast, read the paper, work on the crossword, go out with my grandmother for a coke, a late lunch, a movie...get back and take my grandfather to the gym, do some cardio, some weights, and spend an hour in the pool, creating a floatation device and spinning in the jettisoned water, losing myself completely in the water and sunlight and my body and my mind.
We leave at 6, get home, either go to dinner or cook something quick, and I talk to the old folks after that until about 10 or so, when I grab the laptop, check my email and websites, and maybe get to the blog by 11. The most beautiful wiccan caught me oogling her breasts today. I drove down to the Palm Desert Borders a few hours ago, looking for coffee and a place to plug the laptop in.
I ended up surfing the music section for too long, going over the Bend it Like Beckham soundtrack to find a few of their electronica songs (and remember how great Blondie's song Atomic is). A red-haired, buxom lass wearing a pentecostal skirt and other sundries walked by, fervently discussing the importance in the right deck of tarot cards. I figured she was talking to herself until someone walked into me; I turned around to see this silver-haired beauty, wearing a white tank-top and black skirt, with glorious large bosoms and the warmest pagan smile.
She apologized, I was speechless, and she continued over to the New Age section. I was looking over some James Balwdin at the time, stealing looks at her over the stacks. I looked through the Baldwin, but could only think about her breasts. So I made my move to the Cafe, which would take me right past her. I took the book and started walking, looking straight ahead but catching her in the periphary. She was consumed in some large book.
I walked slowly, planning the right moment to look straight at the boobies...from the corner of my eye, they looked glorious. Left, right, left, right, look: I turned my head and looked straight at them...they were marvelously round and full of zest, and this is coming from a guy who doesn't like large ones. My glorious excevation was short-lived when I looked up to see her peering over the book and looking straight at me looking straight at her dangly wonders.
She didn't share the same smile as before. I played it off as interest in New Age... That Kitaro is a great musician, eh? No smile. And I'm not getting laid tonight. That would've been wicked. Imagine all the candles! 
