seraphine

i just finished watching underworld a few minutes ago. i was thinking about vampires last night. i've been on a vampire trip for a while now, that and the crow. unnaturally into the crow and vampires, even more than i was when this all first started, whoever knows how long ago.

just when i'm allowed to start writing again, i can't. i figured this whole thing would jump start me back into writing, but it's the same thing all over again. i can't write what i want, i have to abide by rules and formulas. set topics and the constraints of words are always what end up killing it. i just need a week of sleep, a week of darkness and solitude, rain and wind, despair and agony. being content kills my desire for life, slaps away my desire for death. and both are needed in order for me to be able to write anything with substance down.

i need a new form of intoxication.