Ringing of glasses. Buzz of talking and laughing people on the terrace in front of the bar. The tram that passes by. The sun makes the surroundings sparkle, while the road workers delve into the adjacent street. The noise that this causes drowns out the buzz of the terrace in front of the bar.
Through the left window of my apartment, I look into a narrow alley, in which there are several waste bins. Once a day, empty bottles are thrown into one of those bins with a huge noise. I listen to the buzz. The distance between me and the terrace only makes the buzz more incoherent. Just like the thoughts that go through my head. The outside world is constantly in motion, while I am staring at a blank sheet, on which words must eventually come. Words that need to form a certain coherence.
The traffic from the adjacent street rushes by. The speed of this accentuates my writer’s rigidity. I try, unlike the incoherent buzz, to organize my thoughts. The blank sheet starts grinning at me. I close my eyes to that. I know , if I let myself get carried away by that, I get up and leave the blank sheet the blank sheet.
My loneliness creeps up against me. I’m trying to stop it. I start walking back and forth in the room. Fragments of thoughts that come to my mind as a result give me tools to fill my blank sheet.
