Excuse the Noise


At this very moment I’m supposed to be creating a statement of purpose for graduate school, rewriting a screenplay and working on another project. However, what is really happening is a complete paralysis of action, a desert of thought, a drought of imagination… Well, you get the point.

Sometimes the words flow like scent seeping from a perfume bottle shattered on a tiled bathroom floor. The letters ooze along the crannies and the cracks while the sweetly smelling sentences fill the room with pungent paragraphs of perfection. Other times they fire forth like diabolical diarrhea instigated by a badly cooked curry that was devoured the night before. A meal, that like those words inside your head, you loved so much the previous evening, but now when exposed to the day has turned against you. Those canny clauses and pretty puns that made you smile are now as meaningful and worthwhile as the remnants of that spicy sauce which is firing into your cheap ceramic toilet. Occasionally, like now, the words have to be forced out as if they are the last remnants of toothpaste from an overused tube. And like that insignificant amount of paste you try to spread those words around. You swish with them, and gargle with them, until you realize that there isn’t enough to clean a page.

This is when writing is at its most painful. The words are not plucked like abundant aging apples on a drooping tree; they’re yanked from inside kicking and screaming and then vomited into the world. Now I’m not claiming that writing is physically painful. Although sitting on your arse for eight hours doesn’t do wonders for the posture. I’m not saying it’s as demanding as working down a coal mine (which is the cliché everybody employs when trying to describe real hard work). But it is mentally painful when nothing is occurring. There's a profound ache when the words decide to play the reluctant bride, and the marriage between page and text has been cancelled. Then it hurts.

So for now I sit and scrutinize this nonsense on my screen (and now possibly on yours too), these words say little and they mean even less, but they’re mine. And they’ll do.

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