The Manor of Antiquities

The small, flat building sits haphazardly on the grass. Windows like eyes look down on a beaten parking lot. A scattered assortment of cars litter the empty pavement. It is a sad sight.
I have been here many times.
I never enjoy it.
A sign introduces the building as Cherry Blossom Manor. Its a nice name.
It doesn't fit.
The halls are full of resignation. Aged relics of an era long past are scattered in dark rooms. Eyes gaze listlessly from behind wrinkled lids. In every room I can hear the drone of a television. Or I can hear the eerie emptiness of silence..
There is an elderly man who sits in a chair. He is there everyday. He has impeccable timing. He smiles at everyone, his face a mask. He tells me "My son is coming to get me today!"
A year later, he still sits in that chair, waiting. Smiling.
There is a woman down the hall. She is friends with everybody. She is friends with nobody. One day, she is not longer there. There is some speculation on where she went. It doesn't last. Within a week, the woman from down the hall is forgotten.
The resiliancy of the elderly surprises me. They cling to memories of an age long past much like a drowning man clings to a lifevest. The present scares them. The past comforts them.
I have walked these immaculate halls many times. I have seen the empty lives that reside in forgotten rooms. It is a place of masked death, a grim reminder to the frailty of life. As I walk these halls, I recall a quote by William Hazlitt:
"We do not die wholly at our deaths: we have moldered away gradually long before. Faculty after faculty, interest after interest, attachment after attachment disappear: we are torn from ourselves while living."

And So We Begin

I can't claim to be very organized. I don't work with schedules or calenders. I mark time using the sun and good 'ol imagination. I usually can't tell what day it is unless my favorite tv show is on, and even then I have doubts that the tv executives are screwing with me. As a result of the forementioned faults in my planning, I can't expect this blog to be edited very often. But I will try, dear readers. But that damn procrastinating nature of mine may plague this work with an unfortunate demise. But lets look on the bright side of things. At least I started.

I want to be a writer. Author. Wordweaver. Master of ceremonies and poems and all that jazz. And I figure that since I have at least a modicum of talent, I may as well give it my best shot. Hence the start of Writer's Block. I will (in theory, mind you) frequently update with new works and random thoughts that I have so that you, reader, may read an enjoy. Or throw tomatoes and pepper me with boos. Either way. Most of my writing exploits will probably be fiction. And at first, they may not be very good. But that is why I am practicing! You know the old saying, 'practice makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise' or something of that nature. Hopefully, my plan is to update every week, but considering my schedule and decidedly lazy personality, I may be lax in my writing. However, if you want me to get off my lazy ass and get some writing done, you can verbally abuse me at my facebook page. Because facebook makes the world go round, doesnt it? I digress.

Well, this seems like a suitable introduction to me. But considering my standards, thats not exactly comforting. But I guess I should wrap it up. If you have any comments, advice, or insults about my sexual orientation, you can email me at kyle_brown113@yahoo.com, where I will stage a suitable response or witty repromand to your kind and/or painful words.
Thanks,

Kyle Brown