Why Do We Write? What Calls For Writing?

imageHuman history begins with the invention of writing, civilization makes its first steps with the invention of writing, the world moves like a toddler, full of love of unknown desires, unknown passions and undiscovered lands, towards a common direction, but and an uncommon playground, with the invention of writing.

The world progresses, heads and advances towards untold, myriad, infinite essential and non-essential ideas that flow forth like a matrix of multidimensional powers and dissimilar similarities as never ever seen before, thought or reflected before on the little, mother, planet earth, with the invention of writing.

Writing then appears as the essence of human history and our very civilization.

 We see the first steps towards the art of writing all around the world like in the civilization of Sumer, ancient China, ancient Egyptians, ancient Greeks and in many other ancient gatherings, ancient empires, countries and places across this tiny, all-loving, all-giving, all-caring heavenly body that we live in and are part of.

Well, but why do we write anyway? Why on earth do we write?

What calls for writing?

Have you ever thought about it? Have you ever reflected about it?

Have you ever mused about it?

Has any of these thoughts, ideas or notions pinched, nipped or stung your mind deep, deep, deep down in its inside self, thinking self or mind’s eye where no god, no outside entity and no outside being can enter in it except the one that owns that absolute, utter, perfect corporeality made of body and mind, eh?

Has any of this ideas pervaded your mind like an alien crossing your sight with a spaceship that flits away, runs away and disappears in the vast universe with the beyond speed of light while you stand lying on the beach, staring skywards and in this very moment, in this very same time it gives you a hint, it makes you reflect that either you are mad or perhaps you saw something that seemed to you very strange, too weird, too eccentric and bizarre, unbelievable to be believed and incredible to have some credibility; expect that, except your thought and thinking that always works, always circles and always spins around new ideas, new ways and new worlds of creativity and makes you believe for what you see and create what you think, what you imagine and bring forth in a simultaneous action of passion and inspiration of productivity like that of the mother nature that is forever creating, forever changing and forever inventing.

Yes. This is the question. Why do we write? What calls for writing? What makes one want to write, desire to write, will to write and keep going with writing?

The truth is that one through the art of writing, and combing the nothingness in itself, carves out his name in human history as a writer or creator, or even as a man of wisdom that never writes, but that makes way for others to write on his behalf and inspire generations through his message to carry on and keep going in his model, in his beaten path and way of thinking, like Socrates for instance did or Jesus of Nazareth as well did. Hmmm…

Harold Pinter, for example, at the introduction of his plays, he said that ‘I write because I want to write. I don’t see any placards on myself, and I don’t carry any banners.

So then, is writing a deep desire and a deep want from inside that pushes us towards the matter in question, that pushes us towards writing unconsciously? Do we write simply because we want, simply because we desire it from within or is there something else in itself that makes us move like a black hole in an unpredictable direction and throws us in an abyss like a sling coming out of nowhere and landing in our minds’ vision, ready-made and full of inspiration? Or is there a hidden flair, a hidden gift or a hidden passion for which we can’t see the forest for the trees, and in which we are missing the bigger picture?

Many men think so, folks in general speak in this language, in this very tongue that if someone writes decently or has an eloquent hand, an eloquent mouth or an eloquent pen, then they say that he is gifted or that he has a flair for it, he is talented by nature, god has blessed him, god has saved him, god has created him in his very image of a fake Adam and false Eve.

Yes these dead gods and dead prophets all had known about this very art and all had a flair for it, a great one! But they didn’t know that the art of writing is, what Thomas Man says at his deed, Tonio Kroger, that literature is not a calling but a curse. And that’s what writing is, it is literature, it is this very techne of the word, it is a curse, a curse that desires to be healed through creativity and become a blessing through the art of writing.

‘It runs in the family,’ I hear folks usually say, the same folks that still respect and revere the right of hereditary, the right of queens and kings, princesses and princes, hate and evil, curse and damnation, wars and human destruction, those that respected once Benito Mussolini and Hitler, but now they have changed their colors, their countenance and their attitude towards hypocrisy, but not the way of thinking. Hmm…

I don’t believe in any flair, any gift or any talented person, Virgina Woolf at her deed ‘Between the Acts’ said that we are all gifted but the thing is how to bring it out. And this is the essence of it, the essence of writing, it is the very essence of how to bring it out, and this essence is called creativity and the hard work and sacrificed, sleepless hours and lives of the zealous, public-spirited, diligent study, behind the scenes, of an artist or creator’s lifetime that engraves his name with his own pure, sterling, unadulterated blood. Hmm…

Well, we can still speculate about the art of writing, about this groundbreaking, epoch-making and revolutionary discovery that is in the same time a great treasury of humankind, a treasury that brought progress and desolation, creativity and sightlessness, love, but and pain, – why do we write? Why on earth do we put that ink on the paper? Why shall one decide to mess with this stuff and waste his time in vain? Or perhaps waste his time trying to make sense, or perhaps waste his time trying to create, or perhaps waste his time trying to note down his ideas, his own ideas, his very own ideas, his very own subjectivity and his very own, inner, mental ideas of the very nothingness in itself, ah here is the point then, and make a castle of ideas like a builder does with bricks and mortar, so does the writer with letters, signs and symbols that form words and express one’s ideas, he forms a sky-scratching tower and goes on and on forever more if he likes.  Hmmm…

Now let me give you some ideas of my own wisdom, now let me give you some water from stone, life from death and love from pain.

An idea comes in my mind straight out of nothingness and all of a sudden like a lightening out of the blue this idea starts to reflect in my mind, if I note it, then I’ll have it, I will have saved it, if not, then I might remember it later, but I might not remember it as well, and to be truthful regarding what I’m arguing, reasoning and writing, chances are that I will forget it. So this is the very reason of why I do write, because I want to note down my ideas in order to not lose them into nothingness again, in order to not let them sink back in a deep ocean where no living man can go and come back again unchanged and with the same state of mind, the same flawlessness and the same perfection of creating, making and doing and doing, making and creating as a creator, maker and doer and doer, maker and creator.

And that’s why you’d see me for years writing poems, hip-hop lyrics, essays, plays, tragedies, novels, romances, short stories, philosophic treatises, pamphlets, open letters and different pieces of writings, and all this in my own phone, yes in the very section where says ‘notes’ but also in my personal notebooks that remain covered by dust, cobwebs and debris of unfinished ideas, in the remote corners of my bed room, like the ol’ genie in the bottle capable of granting wishes when summoned, waiting to be finished, to be cherished and to be published. But, nonetheless, I still don’t know nor am I sure to bring them to the light of the public eye and show my reflection to the world. Or perhaps some of them, one day in the future, you never know, some of them might see the broad day light of a humanistic display as all creators did, as all creators do and the very reason why creators do work that is to get ready, feel ready, make the mind up and break the doors of eternity with the new values on the new tables and glory like Prometheus did in snatching the fire from the gods on behalf of humankind and bringing it down on earth for humans to use it, for humans to adopt it, to assimilate it and absorb for the very good action and the very good reflection, but not squander the fire for hate and evil as we’ve been seeing and are seeing things unfold in front of our eyes with wars and empires, battles and conflicts, fights and campaigns of dishonesty and fraudulence. And then die, that’s the way it is and that’s the life of creators, of Prometheus, of Zarathustra, of Gilgamesh, they die and in the aftermath they get the respect of hypocrites.

And this is how I think about writing that the thought of noting down ideas might have been the trigger for invention of writing and the very essence of the art of writing as well.

This is how I think, that mind is a bridge between nothingness and man, and that’s why original ideas that you’ve never ever, ever encountered anywhere, become a source of inspiration and creativity.

Shall we speculate, meditate, and reflect again and again on the subject?

We all rely on giant’s shoulders so with what we know is that writing has been invented thousands of years ago, we now know that, and perhaps we don’t want to know that at all, perhaps it’s not necessary, perhaps it’s not required to make the point, but I think that the very idea behind this great invention might have been that of the human struggle to note down their reflection and remember, that human struggle to note down their ideas that come straight out of nothingness, nor straight out of Compton, nor straight out of Camden Town, nor straight out of New York City or London where exploitation and slavery flourishes due to this very writing that made some become masters and some others remain their slaves forever, for ideas are like a tank of water you have it when you save it and you lose it when you throw it away carelessly. 

Personally, I write for different reasons, not only because I want to note down my ideas, but also because I have a very deep and profound pain. A deep and profound pain about what is going on in the world, a deep and profound pain that prickles, tickles and grills my heart like the death and birth of a bright star, violent in its birth, violent in its death and violent to eternity. So I want to find a way out of this violent earth, violent galaxy and violent universe that we live in and are part of. And so, I note down what I think at a certain time of my life regarding the life that I live within this reality that we all see; and through this I try to see the possibilities for new ways, for new directions, for a new now and a new tomorrow. Everything comes from nothingness and nothingness is the focus, the focal point, the mother, the centre and the beyond of all universes that we can think, contemplate and imagine. 

I also write because I want to change, I want to engrave and I want to spread my ideas, my thoughts, my way of thinking, my creativity and my philosophy around the planet and bring to the world a different present and a different future, a different vision and a dissimilar similarity, an aim that is not very different, but that contains the difference in the indiscernible difference. The aim of humanism, the aim to bring the human to the want of loving and desiring to know the world, and from this profound desire to reflect all as one and one as different in dissimilarity and create the very new different, dissimilar worlds of somethingness that we live in and nothingness that is not in the way that it should be, that it is in its not being, the aim to bring the human to desire to know itself deep into its greatest depths and from there to bring out the most unseen spells of miscellaneous, diversified, manifold, many-sided and multidimensional nothingness.

Another question may be put forward, ‘is writing connected to the inconceivable, to the unknown, to the beyond? Or is it just that simple action of mixing and matching, of noting down those letters and characters, those marks and tokens, those terms and scripts of a given language and blending them with different, inks and colors that are merged and melted in human understanding and deeper understanding or reason that we bring forth in one whole, harmonious action of a piece of writing which expresses an idea, a mental image or a way of thinking and thought?

Which of two is the truth? Is writing the absolute, the absolute idea?

Or is it the essence of materialism of Marx and Engels, the greed and gluttony of Marxism of happy Marxists and others that brought this chasmic capitalism of inequality that we are all living in and are part of?

Jean Paul Sartre said at his famous deed, Being and Nothingness, that we write because we want to be essential to the world.

But, we see for instance that some people just have a deep and profound desire, if not to write, then to note ideas down and remember and this very action of noting down ideas in order to remember, I call it writing.

Still, the desire, the desire to write is again something else, something that is intermingled, interconnected and interlaced with the invisible and somewhat the indefinite that defines, the indeterminate that determines and the unexplainable that explains, the phenomenon of noumenon and the noumenon of phenomenon that through the ever-growing passion of reflection, meditation and thinking brings forth the new ideas through the art, craft and action of writing.

For instance, we know about the actions of Rosa Luxemburg that would smuggle letters out of her jail cell and would keep doing this thing out of her passion and profound desire of wishing and craving to change, to write and to create. Sartre would note down endless ideas about being in itself and being for itself despite some of them being identical with the ideas of Hegel. Engels would write about many a theme and all the same or not very different from the ideas of Marx and many, many other writers would copy each-others’ ideas and write from something similar to something not very different, something measurable in both quantity and quality with the past thought and thinking, and all this doing, making and creating and creating, making and doing, made out of passion and deep desire of writing.

We’re a mere nothingness a nothingness within a nothingness and this nothingness of mine calls me to write my own nothingness and that’s why I write, to note it down and perhaps engrave with my own blood that is sucked by the capitalist man everyday the more. And here is the very desire, the very wish, the very craving, in wanting to bring change, novelty and innovation. The desire to break down, dismantle and strip of its false titles and machinery hierarchy that belongs to the fetters of hypocrisy, the fetters of dishonesty and the fetters of untruthfulness of this old snake-like, reptile-like, fox-like planet that we live in and are part of. The desire to break down, dismantle and strip the fetters of nothingness and with it, create, build up and construct anew, the desire to construe, explain and express anew all what is and take in question all what is not in order to destroy as a creator and create as a god.

The essence of writing then, has nothing to do with its history or pre-history of writing, nor with the philosophy of Sartre, nor with the comic ideas of Harold Pinter, but rather it has to do with the idea of why did we start to write, why did we want to write, why did we begin to write, what was the bottomless gist of all this, focus, the focal point or the essence of all essences? And I think that it is nonetheless and non the more than the inner human desire to note down inner, original and genuine ideas that come straight out of nothingness and fall again back in this vicious circle of nothingness in itself, if they are not written down and saved to be, to exist and come to life like a human comes from the woman’s womb.

And that’s why we do write because of ideas and nothingness and that’s what calls for writing, ideas and nothingness.


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