Monday, October 24, 2005
Okay, I’ve been asked countless times on why I have stopped writing. I honestly have no clue what’s the real reason. Writers’ block, or did I simply get bored of it? Actually it’s none of this, as I have explained a few nights ago, I will explain again here. When I used to hold that old pen, hovering close to my sheaf of loose-leaf paper, I used to wait for something. Just before the pen touches the paper, I wait for that special moment to be taken away somewhere. From another person’s point of view, it might be seen as a trance or to use the popular expression, ‘spacing out’. As soon as my eyes glaze over and the torrent of colors and pictures whirl meaninglessly, no…they had a meaning I just can’t really recall what. It was literally a torrent of intertwined thoughts that simply rush by, with no relation to what the ink in my pen is pouring out. As described by a few people when they have had that rare chance to see me write, they claim that I don’t look at the paper; I either look through it like some window showing me the other world, or my eyes peer over at the edge of the desk/table that I write at. The ink pours forth my words, my very thoughts. It seems to one, that the pen itself speaks, not me. Now, here I am trying to get used to this keyboard and wondering if I will ever get into whatever world I used to escape to. As one teacher has jokingly said to a classmate of mine, “He is in a world of his own!” Which was so very true. I was a prolific writer, hundreds of countless pages, most still in my possession. Some have been forever lost or in one of my rare rages, torn to irreparable pieces. Journals, short stories and poems…when I dig up that old box, I marvel at the sheer amount of pages I wrote on a daily basis. Now I ask myself, can I do that again? Can my trusty laptop replace that old chewed up pen? Will this keyboard be able to suddenly animate itself like how my pen did? Honestly, I have no idea…maybe practice makes perfect as everyone seems to believe. My restless mind does need an outlet, some form of plug to ground itself against the lightning storms raging inside me. A conduit into which I may be able to channel this energy, through my fingers and out onto the screen. The very simple act of typing this out right now is giving me some sort of relief…I’m hoping this may be the start. One of countless storms I may be able to navigate through. At your urging, here I am again, resurrecting that old private world of mine. Thank you from the deepest part of my soul. I thank you for being that mirror, the very same old mirror I have covered years ago. Only to uncover you and discover you, my universe.
Яanted By Mini Я. at 19:26