These days I seem to be afflicted by a rather prolonged and bothersome lack of imagination, hence the sparsity of time I devote to writing or creating… anything. But one of my spirit guides recently informed me that a lack of imagination is no excuse for a lack of imagination. Somehow, sometimes you just have plough through it, even though what comes out of that is so uncertain. What happens if the end result of all that ploughing is an awareness of the absence of imagination?

Would that be such a bad thing? Think of all of the time that would free up to stare blankly out the window or at a television or at my toes, or your toes (if you would let me). When my friends refer to me as an artist, I might interject, “actually a now retired artist.”

A myriad of complicated circumstances have forced me into this state of shutdown. It’s too complicated to disentangle them. Or that would require something beyond me, like an imagination. Or an intervention.

That’s actually the best idea I’ve had in weeks. An intervention! I am not being sarcastic. I hope that none of my words come across as sarcastic because I can’t imagine any form of expression worse than that. It’s another thing I can’t imagine, but in this case, it’s a positive.

Anyway, I cry out to the universe for an intervention. Something needs to be shaken up and I seem not be doing it on my own.  Somehow I must summon something.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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