writing block

There is nothing left in your writing vein after hours and days staring at the computer putting words together into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, paragraphs into pages, then moving those sentences, paragraphs and pages around to try and find a shape that is lying somewhere in your head, vaguely and doubtfully. There is nothing left in your writing vein when what you writes matters so much less than how you are writing it, when writing becomes construction, and the words become lego blocks, and at the end of the day what counts is the form that must be able to stand, no swaying because a collapse would be a failure. But sometimes things need to fall, so you can pick it up again, or not. So you can look at it from a different perspective, angle, point of view. How much the world can change when you push it upside down.