Sunday, January 29, 2006

Write Release

They call me a writer. I peddle words. Words of all shapes, sizes and meanings. I do this because I write for a living.

You know, it’s not that laborious a process. Words are hidden in the darkest crannies of my brain. I just close my eyes and wait. Though it’s pitch black, it’s easy to find them. Words are noisy. They clamour for attention, banging the walls of my brain incessantly. Unable to withstand the pressure, the walls cave in. The turbulence is so much, my nerves twitch and stretch, awaiting the impending mad rush.

Then it happens. One of the words begins to wriggle forward. It races through my nerves, flows to the tip of my hands and stops. Throbbing. Panting. I open my eyes, sees the pen releasing the word with an impact that shudders my self.

My nerves relax. Brain, exhausted, trembles with the orgasmic experience.

I look down to see the pristine white paper spread out before me. Spotlessly white like a virgin only a while ago, it looks up at me. Face writ with the pleasure of consummation and the fear of lost chastity. The word lies coiled in her belly. Like a stillborn, hoping to come alive.
I close my eyes again to conceive the next word. Wondering, whether I write for a living. Or for pleasure.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Wow! That was intense.