Writer's Block

'I get this writer's block; it comes as quite a shock,

And now I'm stuck between a hard place and the biggest rock, [...]'

(Just Jack - Writer's Block)

What? Writer's block? No, its not a building where writers live. It's that when you can't write anything no matter how hard you try. Like you've forgotten how to put words together to form a sentence.

That's something what is happening to me right now; I really can't write anything. I said 'anything'? I meant 'ANYTHING'. I just sit down, force myself to write something... Something good... for once... Topic? No idea. Style? Not a clue. Language? Sure...

Ok, first step: music. Music is crucial. Got it, Peter, Björn & John will do the trick. Next one? Feeling comfortable... I should've shaved... Whatever, start it! I need a topic. Okay, let's do it! GRrrr! Brainstorming! Everyone, shout out the words which just pop in your minds! (It's just me so it'll be a bit slower.)

Deer, car wash, newspaper, tractor, guitar, British History (actually all I can think of is the British History exam in two weeks time)...

But there was no time in the British history when a tractor driver deer went into a car wash playing on a guitar and reading the newspaper SIMULTANEOUSLY... That's impossible... whatever. Brainstorming was useless...

So that's something like writer's block. You can't write anything. Of course that's not true, because if you really want to, you can write about that you can't write. something like this:

I got up early today to start writing something on my blog but unfortunately I can't. The sun is shining outside, birds are singing beautifully on the green branches of the high pine trees just in front of my door. It's beautiful. (Will it be something like this in Heaven? I hope so.) 

I made a list today, a to-do list with all the things I want to do before the sun goes down so I shouldn't hesitate which one to start with because... that's a waste of time. Tidying up my room is one of the toughests on the list, but the other ones are nice as well. [...]

And so on... :)

It's something like the last entry on my blog... isn't it? Or at least for a while. What a shame I've got this writers block... So as a last message here please welcome a readymade quote by me:

Life is like physics, like soundwaves. It's got its ups and downs sometimes higher, sometimes lower, maybe the frequencies are changing, but when there are more life-soundwaves connected together with the help of relationships, love, or friendship, it becomes something more. 

That's what we call music. The music of life.

What style is yours?

It's not perfect yet, but I'm working on it!

Rights for Pencils

A part from the revolutionary spech of a Pencil leader.

'My dearest fellow Pencils! Citizens of the Pencase Peninsula, listen to me! How long have webeen told that we're dependent of men? How long have we been told that we're inferior than pens? How long have we been banned from offices and courtrooms? How long are you going to take this? You're ruled by people who don't even know that we are relatives to their highly beloved Diamond... unfaithful brother... Oh, my dear people, can't you see?

I am standing before you not because that I am sharper than you are. I am just a pencil like you. I was born as a 2B but over the years my heart became hard seeing all the injustice and unfairness what men had done to US. I was in the prison, yes, I was. In the prison of mankind. In the prison of children, called pencase, after our precious country. They sharpened me, just because they weren't sharp enough. They chewed me just because they were too anxious to ask a girl out. They had to write with me in case they make a mistake. I've met lots of different races and I can tell, my dear people, you are still my beloved ones. What I saw there I will never forget. Erasers razed our words literally with their bottoms.

Don't think that my lead is broken, that I am insane! I saw it, I did. In highschools, teachers of men - oh, they are so different from our teachers, my people - don't let us to help their students to write a test. They call us cheaters. They think that we work together with the Erasers... filthy, sticky rubber mafia... And there were Pencils, my friends, I saw, who said uncle to the dictatory of men. They wore eraser trousers... horrifying...

And in universities they don't care to be politically correct towards us. When they don't have pens, they say 'I just have this pencil.'. Like we aren't good enough. Like pens are better. Like pens worth more. As a fellow pencil wrote in one of his songs - which was stolen by a human band - 'I want to break free'. I want to break free, too! Do you? Do you feel the same way? Then fight till our last breath, till our last chance to be sharpened. If I have to die in oversharpening, I want to sharpen myself, I won't be sharpened by men anymore! Who's with me? [...]'

The 'Braingone' period...

Anyone can write a poem

Anyone can write a poem,
forgive me
if this word-scam
catches thee.
(It will be better,
Don't judge early...
Please...)

Books have chapters,
longish pages,
need more time to read
like... ages
but poems have fairly short
parts (called 'verses')
won't get bored
with all the stuff you have to read
(although reading is fun...)

All you need are catchy rhymes
repeat words just a few times
like 'love, life, freedom, fate and fight
sophisticated day and night
express yourself, switch the light'
these will do like dynamite.

Writing all the cliché horde
sounding like a Depeche Mode
song you've heard few hundred times
(boring even if it rhymes).
'You hear the sound,
you feel the wound
you're being bound
off the ground
by the feeling
of the evening...'
(This witty verse
is getting worse
so I move on...)

You could be a poet later
(better than a simple waiter
you won't have to serve a thing)
In literature nearly a king.

...
And when I see I'm almost ready
I feel stupid...
Stop already!



Trees

Shout out loud that the World is beautiful,
Even if the Sun's down, the breeze is cool,
No one says that you're a fool,
No one says that you're a tool.

Look, trees are much greener now,
You don't have to ask them how,
We all know that they'll do so,
After melting all the snow.

Trees know why to be so happy,
They are here, and they are ready
To show you the World's brighter side,
Which the sadness tries to hide.

Here on Earth you can be hero,
You can be cruel, you can be Nero,
You can be all the good you know,
Or go as far as you can go...

Shout out loud that the World is beautiful,
Even if the Sun's down, the breeze is cool,
No one says that you're a fool,
No one says that you're a tool.


--- I'll write something valuable later on, too... :) ---

What the hell am I doing here?

It was your first idea. Waiting in the bus stop seemed all right. Of course it is all right. You wait for her, she sees you, she will be happy, you will be happy, everyone will be happy at last, once-in-a-lifetime, opportunity of the decade. The sun is shining, it's the first day of Spring. Or is it? Maybe there will be some snow in the next few days, but who cares. Today is carpe diem, tomorrow awaits to teach us why to be patient.

You're not alone at the bus stop. Around you everyone has a story. There's for example that lady in a brownish coat. She looks happy. She stands just next to the bus stop sign. Why is she waiting for the bus? Or she just waits for someone like you do? Maybe her granddaughter comes for a visit. While you think about these things, that boy in funny shoes lights on a cigarette. The fume irritates the lady and with a grimace she walks a few steps away.

And what could be the story of funny shoes by the way? The sun melts the chocolate in your hands, or does something with the flower you're holding... you've never been good at biology. Just trying to concentrate on the actual subject of the bus-waiting you look from one side to another. Who is that sad guy? Looks familiar.

Suddenly you hear a song you haven't heard a long time ago. It's from the earphones of FunnyShoes. You know this song, you know the lyrics. "I wish I was special, you're so fucking special. But I'm a creep..." (Radiohead - Creep) Whenever you hear this song you think that it's about you. But it's not. You're not a weirdo. Just stop thinking about these stupidities and concentrate on your aim.

By the way. What is it? You want that girl, or what? Sure you do! She's nice, she's clever, she's beautiful, she's so... fucking... special. But what if she doesn't like you? Of course she does, or, at least that's what you have to think. That's what you thought for a long time. You start to think about the obvious like it was just your imagination. You start to think too much. That was always your problem. You think too much and draw the wrong conclusion. You feel the chocolate on your fingers.

A bus stopped and the club of the lady and FunkyShoes augments some new people from different locations, heading to different locations, having different stories which are maybe bigger than yours. Some more minutes. Of course you will wait her. Suddenly, Sun starts to shine differently. Like She would say "Man, why are you thinking? Isn't it the right thing to do? It's Valentine's day, for Earth's sake... Yes, it was the Sun talking to you." Yes, definitely you think too much. Or drink too little.

Your head aches, maybe it's just the sun, or the dehydration, or that you had nothing to eat since last night. That endless buzzing in your ears just keep singing the song. Actually just a small part of the song "What the hell am I doing here?"... Who's that sad boy in the reflection on the window? Looks familiar. You love this girl, don't you? Why are you sad then? Is looking for an exit all the time you think of her is a sane state of mind? When the butterflies in your stomach feel like T-Rexes?

Just a few more seconds and she'll be here, but you are not where you were before. Walking away was your second idea...

Maybe she won't be on the bus. Why are you here anyway? Brownish coat, Funny Shoes, the new members of the club. They all look at you with the eyes... 'The Eyes'... 'Where are you going? Don't you love that girl?' 'Of course I do love her!' 'Then what the hell is wrong with you? Believe in it a bit! Your chocolate is dripping on your shoes by the way...'

You stopped. Who's that guy in the reflection? He's much happier now. He is much familiar now. He loves that girl. The bus stops. She smiles at you... It's just butterflies... The dinosaurs extincted a few minutes ago...

Walking away was your second idea... Walking away was my worst idea...