I was in a headspace where i had not written much or well for quite a while.  Standing in the shower, i thought "i forgot how to write". To follow came  the second line. then, formulating the meaning of such, it lead me along the idea that writing is incessant in my head and becomes a blur that needs to be let out. Its not that it isnt there - it always is. Rather, it is discerning the words from the amorphous mass that is the challenge for me as a writer. All the words and thoughts and emotions i possess boil under the surface in my brain. I often glance down from  above, and see nothing but a smoothe surface, ignoring the creatures there in the deep.

This time, i think the happening that lead to my not writing is in y havign been unable or un-ready to face wounds present in myself, fromt hings ive done, lies ive been told or told, of people i thought honest and true to me turning out to be frauds and transients and leaving my life.  The idea of sipping coffee with your hurts always comes back to me in times where depression is strong - thanks to a friend of mine who said to me something along the lines of "sometimes we dont need to solve our problems, sometimes we just need to sit and have a cup of coffee with them".

The blackboard brain bit is the way that i think in images and connected concepts- the same way i imagine a chalboard would be useful in illustrating- and a place to illustrate the details of each wound as i give them the attention they deserve. The trance that comes with trauma. The way it can empty all else from the mind and become the sole focus. And finally, the way that, hopefully, facing, illustrating, and looking intently at each, will assuage the damages.