What Type Of Weave Does Myamee Have

compost and mouth sewn

I have nothing to say. It happens.
As a big gap which I am aware badly when I try to open a new window into the computer. It already sounds rusty, there's lots of traces of dust, some early cobwebs. The air coming out was like a whiff of mothballs, moth repellent products, basically shut the cellar. I have nothing to say. I close with a squeal guilty.

There's maybe too much speaking, not evacuated in time to avoid the tangled traffic jam of words and sensations that clutters my syntax and numbs my fingers, paralyzed at the thought of facing any "it" . This is not an issue of inspiration, the opposite is true: any lapse would take too long.

I have nothing to say because everything is stupid ... buried. As
been entangled behind the multitude of layers of gray sky.
Above the clouds, it is always nice. Behind my silence, I am always so talkative.
But maybe I'm not able to see the interest of telling. Perhaps, simply, when you have nothing to say, is there anything better to say it: I have nothing to say . And make white sheet.


In a perfect world, the publication of this message, it should start raining. A small storm, well, it would not refuse.

-maispastrop-