Blog #5

Much of the literature of the 20th Century has been written in response to momentous events such as the first and second world wars. Draw up a short list of some of the momentous events that have been hitting our planet in the last 5 years and suggest a few ways in which writers might try to make sense of any one of these events. Your response to this suggestion, might itself be a piece of creative prose or poetry.

WORDS UNSPOKEN

It seems as though an inexpressive psyche prevents communication but what if ones’ psyche is not the issue. What if it were the form that communication takes? It is not only by voice but by literature also! It seems as though the words unspoken, both the heavy and the hopeful, can be expressed through the simple act of ink to paper or fingers on keyboard. There may be no such thing as an inexpressive psyche, one must simply find the expressive medium through which they are comfortable to liberate the thoughts that plague their mind. At last, freedom! Liberated through the power of writing. But what are these thoughts that plague the mind?

“You there”, I said, “Tell me what plagues your mind, cripples your being during your daily endeavours”.

“Perhaps it would be better if I wrote it down”, replied the first stranger.

The world. It seems that it has conspired against us! The shaking of the ground, the submersion of natural and man made creations, the burning of our dearest, most prized possessions that also become jilted in whirlwinds of mass destruction. Around and around they go, ripping in and out of the core of a cyclone. Across the globe it seems as though humanity is crippled again and again by the sheer magnitude of destruction. Oh the pain that is inflicted upon us! How ever will we recover from the earthquakes, floods, wildfires or tsunamis that wipe out entire societies! It plagues me that there is nothing I am able to do to prevent it. Tick, tock the clock goes and then it becomes a question of when the next disaster strikes rather than if it will.

“I see. I hear. I understand. Written but expressed, is it liberating?”, I asked.

“It helps me make sense of the world around me. A liberation from the heaviness of spoken words. Words I never seem to be able to articulate”, replied the first stranger.

“You there”, I said, “Tell me what plagues your mind, cripples your being during your daily endeavours”.

“I find solace in the art of writing, perhaps I could write it down”, replied the second stranger.

Death. Even the word itself is grim, void of any connotations of happiness but I guess that is expected, after all, death is death. But I talk about it not in the way that I fear my own demise but rather by how death is handed to innocent individuals who try to simply exist. A death sentence for existing in an unfair world. The clock chimes at 6:00 pm and I watch the horrors of the day unfold in an endless loop day by day. Guns pointed, finger on trigger and well, you know what happens next. It is a shame that you know. They really do not understand the extent of their actions, the pain they inflict on loved ones, strangers, people simply trying to exist. The horror! My oh my, the jagged edges of their actions pierce! My mind, my heart is bleeding with the sorrow inflicted by the cruelty of evil! It plagues me that for some, liberation and communication lies in the contents of a bullet, lodged in the barrel of a gun. It plagues me that other forms of violence are condoned, where racial discrimination is a ‘normal’ injustice, never being able to simply be eradicated.

“I see. I hear. I understand. Written but expressed, is it liberating?”, I asked.

“It helps me make sense of the world around me. A liberation from the heaviness of spoken words. Words I never seem to be able to articulate”, replied the second stranger.

“You there”, I said, “Tell me what plagues your mind, cripples your being during your daily endeavours”.

“I too find solace in the power of written expression”, replied the last stranger.

*Cough* *Cough* *Cough*

Now, cue the stares and the division of people from my sight. A simple cough has become the mark of avoidance. I understand the stares but I pity the cause. If only the simpler times could return. When terminals were filled with eager individuals awaiting their next adventure or embracing loved ones was simply accepted. Restrictions restrict life from happening but the clock still ticks. Wait! No! Pause! Life does not pause for any one, this, all of this is part of it. I despise it but I understand it. That is the pain of accepting that which plagues your mind but it being the thing that you cannot control.

Each stranger has thoughts that plague their mind. Many events and occurrences have struck our planet and I expect that more will happen in the future. Not a pessimistic approach to life but rather one that understands that as long as time continues, life will continue to present challenges. Writers now, writers back in the 20th Century have something in common. They write to express the inexpressible, to liberate their psyche from the heaviness of spoken words. The heaviness but inevitability of living.