To write or not to write

February 2, 2019

1 Leave a comment on paragraph 1 0 Petrarch #120

2 Leave a comment on paragraph 2 0 “I write to assure you that I have not yet felt   from whom I & all the world await   her final bites

3 Leave a comment on paragraph 3 0 Women who imitate birds ….”

4 Leave a comment on paragraph 4 0 -Tim Atkins

5 Leave a comment on paragraph 5 0 The reasons that Orwell mentions about why one should or would write seem vague to me. I don’t think there can be reasons to why one writes. At the same time writing doesn’t necessarily has to not have reasons. Structures are useless. (Or are they?) Orwell himself talks about political purposes in his writing. How having a public eye had given his writing a shape which was he feels was the ultimate goal. And that’s understandable.

6 Leave a comment on paragraph 6 0 In terms of behaviorism there is no free will. I can’t write just to write. There must have been something that triggered it. What was it for me? I don’t think I know the answer to that question. And that’s OK. Because I don’t dwell on the question.

7 Leave a comment on paragraph 7 0 If I tried can give about thirty or so reasons as to why I write. If I tried… But as I would list them I would discard each and every one of them in my head. I guess I might have gotten just too used to the face of the absurd. I used to hope for some sort of redemption people get from acts of creation. Also destruction. Shiva was simultaneously a creator and a destroyer. I used to feel powerful when I wrote something as there was a certain kind of euphoria that swelled over the membranes of my brains thinking that I might have created something. Did god feel powerful? Does she still? I don’t ask myself those questions anymore. I write so I can maybe close my eyes and listen to the great snakes that whisper inside my mind. I write to somehow face something that I can never give words to which may or may not happen. A friend once said he felt as lonely as jesus. We were supposed to go to MoMA together and stand in front of The Starry Night and listen to whatever he would say about Vincent and the blue and the feeling of being left alone. And I did visit without him and the people gathered around the starry night and I could hear them breathing and there was loneliness. It was there…

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