Writer's block. Artist's block. Crafter's block. Life block. My world is an never-ending world of blocks. Perhaps that's why I enjoy Minecraft so much. Lifting, creating, flying, building. Endless possibilities from blocks. All blocks. Everything in my mind is clicking, sickening, maddening. Stop. Breathe. Start again.
Every thought I experience is fluid and magical, a drowning wonderful image of euphemistic dreams. Continually floating in the breezes of my mind, swirling in the dust of long forgotten chalkboards. All the beautiful colors rising up into the night sky, sprinkling the ink blots of the universe we so unenthusiastically embrace.
Look at that dark sky, nothing but stars. How horrible it would be to discover every last inch, nook, and cranny of it. What purpose do they serve? Nothing, according to them. Wrong. They're all wrong. Take another look. Don't think about it, just look. That dark sky, with nothing but stars, allows your mind to be free. What's wrong about that? It can escape everything it is confined in. All the work. School work, house work, just work.
How can you all do it? The monotony kills me inside. It shrivels up every last whimsical tendril, swirling it's own design. Crushes all the sparkling sugar cubes of their own geometric patterns, their sweet existence. Dries the vast oceans I drown myself in, just to experience all they can show me. The crushing darkness of hopelessness. The rhythmic waves of all life forms surrounding me. The shivering loneliness of never ending possibilities just out of reach.
As the soft whispers begin to fray, and the gentle wind begins to whip, every block is destroyed. Shattered into as many pieces as you don't care to count, you just stare. Close your eyes, the end is near.
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