The world would be tastier is it was made of vegan apple-vanilla cake

I can't stand it when people watch over my shoulder while I am writing. I don't know why, but it causes an instant writer's block in my head. No words want to be spotted while they are being in the proces of creation, as if they are scared to show their bare skin to the unknown light. Maybe that is why my writing lost its fluency, why my blog is relatively empty the last months, why I write and delete, write and delete, write and decide to leave it for a moment when I can say it all at once, in the right words, in the right order, in the voice that fits the situation.

Words are struggling with me. They try to put themselves in vague conceptual styles while ordering my fingers to write as a real social scientist. I fall in the trap of clichés of 'however', 'furthermore' and 'nevertheless'. I struggle back, but time falls short and deadlines give lazy words some meters ahead in the race towards graduation. Why does it feel as if I can't live fully, when words are blocked and leave my mind without oxygen? I can still scream 'Climate Change' in multiple languages, write it with question or exclamation mark, with a bit STOP-sign in front of it or make humans responsible for it in some anthropogenic phrasing. Seeing the whole picture would help... but it seems like that picture still needs to be taken. Why isn't the world made of vegan apple-vanilla cake. It would make everything so much tastier.

Green lunchbox

Daily writing doesn't seem to be my thing. I didn't evenmanage to put some words online yesterday. Life's a mess, my mind confused. It's friday again... 4 oclock. My bus is leaving in 45 minutes.

The world is dangerous, radio-active, poisonous and most of all a deadly, but extremely deadly illusion. My portable telephone is ten times as radiating as my cellphone, he says. There are so many things we should have been warned about before. But everything in life doesn't come with manuals, instructions, step-to-step solutions, explanations... there's no protection at all... And nobody even cares.

I should write interviews. This morning I wrote one between 8:30 and 9:30 while having breakfast, morning talks with the last traces of sleep blocking my sight. I should write a letter to myself. Seeing things clearer. Other should do that to. But I don't try to force my good advice on other people, before listening. That's not the role of an interviewer, remember? No protest, no good advice, no ego-illumination of the interviewer, ... at least not during the interview. Once writing you can celebrate the pearls of your creativity, put yourself in some else's story. Mikyung, my sweet friend from Korea, once made me realize that every sentence, every word written has been thought by the writer. That everything written really passed the neurons of a particular person's brain, that they are born there and then re-experienced by the reader. I thought it was wonderful. Obvious, of course. But nevertheless wonderful. I want to travel around, interviewing people all the time. I love talking to others, hearing their stories, even experiencing them, but I lack time to write down the words that touched me, the storylines which could learn me something for the future, the message of sentences between the lines of bodylanguage. It would be a dream to live of writing down the things I want to remember, so it can be remembered for me and shared. Dela.

I will apply for a freelance journalist job. I will. Even though I don't have time at all...