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Writing Experiments: Can I Feel Whatever I Want Through These Words?
My goal today is to…
It is a cold morning. The sky is overcast, and the wind is harsh. But I am warm inside this new apartment I moved into yesterday. I am here standing and writing this because I don’t have a chair yet. Although this is not at all comfortable, I am bringing myself to do this by telling myself that Hemingway wrote like this.
The floor is squeaky. The tea I made myself this morning was strong, so I am having some pretty intense bowel movements. My body hurts at places due to stuff carried yesterday. I have a lot to manage in this new place. I have things to buy and organize. With all these things to do, I don’t have time to ask myself ‘What is life?’
But I want to be asking myself that question!
Once I told myself I had to be a writer or some kind of artist because that’s the only way I can ask that all important question. And the fact that I am here, amidst practical chaos, typing ‘What is life?’ makes me feel I made the right choice.
What is life, by the way?
Is it that which gets to exist only if you manage to find food, clothes and shelter for yourself?
Or is it something that doesn’t exist as long as you don’t ask what it is?
