I'm a pretty poor excuse for a writer, aren't I? The words don't flow like they should. I'm like a river caught up by a dam. The force of all that water is there, but it's all potential energy. There's a wall holding me back, keeping the potential from becoming kinetic. And isn't that what it's all about? Being kinetic, I mean. Flowing from point A to point B like the purest form of energy. Communicating thoughts like a landslide, an unstoppable torrent of thought.
But here I sit, like soil too dry, too dense with foliage to go anywhere. The inclination is there, but the earth won't flow. It's all just potential. Potential like a thousand pound weight suspended over my head, just waiting to become kinetic so it can convert the matter that is my brain into energy. Energy that turns a blank page into a repository of knowledge and information, useless though it may be. The font of useless knowledge, that's me. Glad to know you.
And who are you? Just another stop on the way to nowhere in this landslide that is my life. Just waiting for the rain to fall so it can start. But the rain won't come, so here I am. All potential, no kinetic.