Employment of mind elsewhere as a therapeutic auxiliary has produced marginal improvement in this chronic blogger who shows pathological attachment to her scribbles which she calls poetry. She suffers from a kind of moral masochism in which the person arranges her/his life to guarantee setbacks. She lives the character’s (of the so called poetry/stories') fictional life complete with realistic sensations, submerging herself in other, complicated, gloomier life. The contents of this blog manifest displaced psychosexual ambivalence, need for a permanent partner, plus possible neurosis of destiny. That is why she needs to write again but she is trying to locate that fugitive object which made her write and return here to her rightful resting place. When that is done, you can read her ditties, which she claims can breathe, speak, clash, belch, bleed, and cry. Until then …….
Labels: amour-propre, mental, writer's block
