The Process

 I take my own intuition into work immediately every time it comes out in my head. I do not waste time, I scribe this little thoughts in a scratch and keep it. I tried to pile up most of them to create a new work, wishing that in it a new thought will be formed in a sequence where it is only by incident. I am not the type who can easily think of something good and pleasurable, I am not an easy man to please. And it is a bit frustrating to think that this little thoughts only comes out when I think of nothing, and nothing every time I am dieing to think of something. I thought they won’t come out if I force it to. I thought it lives in me and sleeps and finds itself time to wake up every time it wanted to. But there are times when I feel free to scribe scribbles on my notes, at ease, painless, fun. Sometimes it doesn’t take any to write about something. There are voluntary flashes of thoughts that flood my mind that once came a point my hand can hardly keep up with it, and my writing becomes mere scribbles of lines and vandals instead of letters to words to sentences. Living a life that depends on papers, pens, and scribbles are not only creators, mostly we are imitators. And today we live a world where too many fishes are in the sea trying to swim as far as they could and I can hardly find space I can call my own. I do not have much of a choice but to pick little lines from conversations, stories, and other texts I’ve read and uses them on my own. I am not a well armed writer. I only have bullets of words. But I can be more than a well lubricated gun.