Starring into the blank-hole of what is my blank computer screen, it seem I have writers block! It was just a moment ago— being under the influences of pain medication seem to make time fly by, what was a long time or so I thought, was only seconds of real-time. The clock on the wall seem to be mocking me. That invention of ancient time keepers is just ticking away, tick-talk, tick-talk, tick-talk. Enough! I scream out from my desperation, trying to find something to fill the void, to cover the whiteness of the screen, to fill the bottomless pit of this blank-hole.
At times the ideas just flow out of me, the problem then is arranging them onto the page. Still other times the ideas come to a point of taking a rest but my mind is wanting to still go. The result of the driving force of caffeen–yet another drug. I know, mixing and allowing for the amateurish match making of drugs ( such as caffeen and pain-killers) should be left to the professionals of chemical love. But one creates a puddle of melted mush mindlessly bathing in the white light of the blank page. The other revs me up with caffeen over load, allowing ideas to just flow. Just a gentle push or a pull, a seesaw battle between the amateur, and professional.
Within this existence, the push and pull of new ideas, just end up as new-born posts unfinished. Then a new page is used for the next. Untill that idea is exhausted and it comes to a rest. After several half hatched ideas end their race car like race, on that oval lap around my mind, one comes to the for front, and crosses the finish line. This compleated post is then placed neatly into storage, untill a clear mind allows for the re-write.
But this time the blank hole of my computer screen, that great port-hole to the unknown, was giving me a type of new feeling, a worry of sorts. No new interpretations of some standard dream. Nothing! Just nothing. Where are those new great half-baked ideas? Where have they gone?
With blank pages of empty silence and white noise, and jumpy fingers with no keys on the key-board to strike. I stare into the white light of the blank-hole. Come on you have ideas? I conjure up courage, and slap myself a few times as if I was sleeping. Yet nothing rattled around my mind, nothing flowed into nerve impulses, activating creativity. Thus no renewed noise of key jumping, keeping time with the writers song and dance. Blocked, I look across the ha-ha towards my next idea, but yet so easily separated, worn down, fatigued and unable to cross over to where they hide.
But all I heard was…. tick-talk, tick-talk…….
Where was my ability’s to fill the empty sounds of this room with typing? Writing? Filling that white screen with new ideas, or some nonsense, a great story, a musing, points of views, expressions of feelings, or capturing the silence of what these tired eyes of mine have seen. Expressing those pictures with a few words…if not a few thousand? But this time…nothing! Drug induced constipation?
But now, before I begin. I lose!
Where have my ideas gone? Where are those great words I would choose?
Ideas consumed with the white-hot fires of the blank hole flame,
despite the smoke, I see nothing but that constant clock ticking, so I chose to blame.
Surly it’s not the caffeen and pain-killers romantic dance,
that glide over my mind, in their romantic drug induced romance.
That flow of the dress in the silent dancers twirl, those intoxicating tingling sensations that tangle those ideas into a strong tight bind.
their influences just mock and imprison my mind.
Tick-talk, tick-talk! Surely it is not love at first sight with these two odd couples of twisted desire, one that’s constant exhilaration, and the other whose a slowing constant brake!
Like two erasers those who chase each other along the pathway, this way, then that way, all across my mind make no mistake,
They erase everything into a chalky blur, into that white noise lake.
Is this what it is like to have writers block, drowned in this white noise lake or the computers blank page at best?
prehaps it is my caffeen zooming, now some 48 hours strong, that’s telling me…you need rest!
Best wishes with your writing. Hope you never have to have experiences like this? Hope when you look into the bright fire of that blank paged or screen, that white lightning port-hole, contrasted with some endless possibilities of dancing words that you all see. That person, that place , or those things of great wonder that you haven’t yet arranged? Despite each of our limitations, that blank page, that white hole can give us all unlimited places to go or to see; things to do, people to meet, even to a point of being totally out of this world? For you sitting there basking and bathing in the white holes glow, sit in your own writers dreams, in the front row.
All the best.