Writing

I threw away more papers today. Notebooks I'll never need again. But I couldn't throw away my essays on sin and American puritanism, for instance. My old self is making me smile these days.

Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I realise this now. I have sinned against my nature, against what makes me tick. It's been seven years since I last wrote anything that was not compulsory. In other words, I have not written freely for a long while. And I do have a strong streak of hate-everything-compulsory in me.

I used to write often ... well, I do keep a diary, but that's different. That is to be read by me, alone. And I keep a blog, but that's sort of meta :)

But before I got sucked into this world of information, I used to write, for the sake of writing. For the sake of a fleeting moment or of a feeling that I wanted to capture, for the sake of making up stories to see where they would lead.

There was one small exception, about three years ago: I tried to co-write something. It worked like this: each of us would write five lines, then let the other continue. I wrote two parallel texts with two friends. But then, we got stuck, somehow. Probably because it was all too general and there was no core message?!

Whatever. Writing is good for me. I think I'll go back to it. I just found my old account on Agonia untouched. Most of my feeble attempts at 'literary greatness' are in English. I wrote some poems (?) in Romanian too. Must ...continue ...

But not now, I'm really falling asleep here. Tomorrow. Cheerio!