brainglish [brain glitch]

i've so many writer's blocks that i could build a wall.  I've also got so many drafts i could start an army.  yet with all this i still can't seem to be able to find enough words for even one complete idea, one decent post.  so, you get this indecent post.  the words are all on the tip of my tongue, taking turns coming from the back to the front of my mind, but somehow their meaning is lost.  they never reach the tip of my pen [fingers, in this case] intact.  maybe, thats a fault of mine, or maybe its just that the translation from brainglish to english isn't very good?

Life: you look like a participant.

warning: this post contains content that might be an insight to some viewers.
~ignorant viewer discretion is advised.~

i'm not picky, i probably even like you. so long as you tell the truth.  i like people,
As they Are and Were. (thoughts on truth and people)
My words are cut off, like a fixed
drip. drip. drop.
like the dry blue sky, my conscience is clear.
you know me? like the back of my hand, washed clean
with soap made of lye?

truth is like liquid. hard to see. hard to hold.
hard to speak until swallowed. truth is hard and it is cold.

we could go on....
about how truth floods, fuels those who run, but
what would be the point?
it'd read as Just
a pencil thin line, that once touched becomes
sssmmuudgged.
so, this paper stays blank,
as the back of my mind.
inspiration gone, without even the linger
of the last note of a song.

and all of This, started,
ended.
              right here.
with choices and actions
that like falling lifeless
leaves lie heaped on the ground, for its
the autumn of the seasonal year.
we think we're done when everything is dead,
but it comes down to one thing,
not zero or none.
Truth is the matter.
That, makes who we are.
not at once, but quite slowly
in a small drip. drip. drop.
so, with this matter only,
my words, are cut off.


~we all know that 'Someone', who we'll never figure out, but still, we befriend them. the mystery is half [or whole] of the intrigue.  and being their friend, its kind of like listening to AM and FM radio at the same time: mixed signals, bad reception, the same four lines in the same four songs, and a mess of political opinions.
yet, we like music, we like to hear familiar things, and to think through the opinions of others, and so, we like this person.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rT-5NY83OYI&ob=av2e

i'm not picky, i probably even like you. so long as you tell the truth.

hourglass. lookingglass. timepassed.

oh time, how you are always and now. how you set stereotypes and control my appearance. an appropriate time for new hobbies would be after retirement(so time would have us believe)....so when i recently took up drawing [portraits, abstract, and random such sketches] i felt like i must be retired.  however. it still stands that i am not retired. i have a job. i would like two jobs. so, i suppose i've broken the stereotype of age.  shrug. mostly i just feel re-tired. i age a little everyday and every night on my way to sleep, i suddenly have ambition and motivation. i am an artist, a writer, i take up water aerobics (okay..maybe not that) ...twenty minutes later,  i feel re-tired. so i sleep. next morning. i arise, go to work and feel at-tired.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jNv46fB93IE 

this song reminds me of the passing of time. it fits the mood of this post, and the tune of a music box.