Journal Entry

Soul weary, I am. "Rote" is the parasite in my limbs, killing my spirit. That drive out to the desert with Chris, Cam, Ciera and Mom reminded me there are more expansive vistas. I crave them -- internally, especially. I read powerful books on creativity [not just art, but LIFE], then I sit on the patio and kvetch in my journal and sit staring off into the sky. Is something new gestating within? Or am I really lacking oxygen here in a stagnant pond? I am awaiting fruit from this dry barren place.