Behind the glass writing

Sometimes I return to this blog, expecting from myself to write some meaningful thought. Today is one of these times.

I am looking through a glass window at the sun and the nice weather, I hear some birds singing and I can see trees growing leafs. Nevertheless I am behind a glass from all these beauties in front of a so called keyboard device.

Where do I want to be? I want to be out there, growing with the leafs. Why am I not? I don't even know myself. I could enumerate plenty of reasons, and they would all sound like a blackmail. I am behind the glass because I want a social secured life, but all I am given is the security of a life behind the glass.

I don't think I can use such electronic devices to write. Actually, I don't write. Writing is just a way to share your inner art and it is almost always a post-climax ritual. Like the after-sex cigar.

Inspiration went through you, in every little corner of your mind, in and out, you felt everything, you met the muse. Afterwards you are tired and happy and not in the mood for writing. Sometimes you force yourself to, even though you know that by doing so that sweet feeling of having met the muse will vanish much faster.

I don't write... I dream, I see, I feel, I create, I hope, I despair. And I need to be on the other side of the glass to do all that. And on that side keyboards don't work.

I need pen and paper. Pen and paper slow my writing down, leaving plenty of time for inspiration.