Writing skills tell no tales

Not that I'm an amazing writer or the most rapturous teller of tales, but I've shared a narrative or two that could be listed on the level of sharing a wordsmith's proportions.  Yet I've recently noticed many things about my story telling, my blog writing, and my bearing of tales. They've become stale, seemingly unedited, and frankly downright boring.
   Perhaps its my lack of audience. My children and grandchildren once enjoyed my tales; the grand-kids hearing a different version from the adults of course. We don't get together like that much anymore.
Perhaps its the lack of angst driving me towards the salvation of a siren past, seductively wooing towards the shores of regret, tales of adventure, lost loves and old friends. Where I used to live or work or play. Things I used to do or places I used to go.
   Success, failure, abundance, loss. Where in life's puzzle do I now stand?
   Whatever it is, I am feeling stagnant. My creative juices have become nothing more than dribble. And by dribble I mean, like the moist roll that stained the corners of my Grandpa's mouth. Brown with a light tint of amber from years of chaw. I never saw him spit but he did have a constant polluted drool edging forth from the corners of his mouth. Not to mention the stains on his shirt and pants. Needless to say, one loved him from afar.  And now I too feel that my stains are showing...
   The beauty of life is that one should never become too worried about where we might seem to find ourselves. I mean, life is change and the stagnation of today can as easily become the prolific garden of tomorrow. But it does take participation. A garden requires tilling, tending, seeds. If my creativity cannot find a spigot through work or through writing perhaps it's time for a little something that has come full circle. Round and round we go.
   Someone a few years ago stated, "You just can't seem to get away from Volkswagens" when he saw me in the Karmann Ghia. For over thirty five years the love of the air cooled people's car has kept one close by. The may be said for my guitars or my interest in Daoist QiGong.
   With that said, as the winter months approach these are my creative goals:
   Re-tackle the guitar.
   I've owned several guitars over the years.  The last being a 12 string Ovation which I gave to an aspiring musician friend of my daughter's. I've owned a Fender Jazz Master and a Martin D35 among others. Recently a few guitars have found their way back into the fold. A rather good condition Johnson and an excellent Peavey. I play well enough to self entertain but I would certainly like to ratchet things up several notches. Maybe even explore some garage band fun.
   Creativity is fun - and healthy!
   I would also like to get back to the rhythm of QiGong practice. The stream flows of itself. One must step off and step in.
Let me leave you with this.............

Do you understand??



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Ah! when I moved my eyes from the screen, I saw everything hazy.I focused a lot on this piece and your black background and white letters..

I really somehow queerly relate with this post..yes, I am also not doing the same write-ups, same thoughts, for almost a year. I've lost the intensity, mostly busy with materialistic work, I don't know when this stagnancy will end. Anyways, I tell you I enjoy your write-ups and whenever I enjoy, I comment. This applies to all blogs..though nowadays, i do not get much time to read blogs. Keep posting..This post I guess you took some time to write..

Sound of rain needs no translation,so do a pure thought need no recognition. It is self-explanatory, self-satisfying