I woke up today feeling as though half my vocabulary had been displaced. Funny how I always think of the poetry and writing of Dionisio D. Martinez when language fails me. Ironic that I would find this partial explanation from him of his latest book, Climbing Back. It fits my state of mind:
I suppose I've always been afraid of the literal. Not because it clears things up, but because it __________ them. In Climbing Back more than in any other book, because I've consciously used a character as a device to distance myself from myself, language becomes more _________, especially when everything seems to point in the direction of logic and the predictable. I originally wanted to call it Climbing _________, but it didn't have the weight of "back." Maybe it's no longer an obsession, this collection of sounds, these contrasts between the first language and the primary (second) language; maybe I'm a little closer to the center, where words don't feel the need to be melodramatic or _________. I have a whole poem composed of nothing but _________ to a group of spontaneous and random _________ that I eventually deleted, leaving only the _________ to fend for themselves.
I open my mouth to start a sentence and cannot complete the thing, see only a blank line, or worse, come close to what I'm trying to say but have no inner thesaurus available.
It seems I need a new spark to start the writing again today, as Dionisio says "liberating but terrifying".