Day Seven

I have already read too many eclectic clusters of words this morning to feel energetic enough to write a blog. It is curious thing: rather like being confronted with miles of shelves in an American supermarket, the lively choice of produce drains all energy. Engenders a kind of passivity. I skim and skip across blogs and websites. All of which offer an appetizing array of tidbits. School for Life and it's Life Class blog, for example. PEN's Atlas, as another. The absence of depth, of course. The same old chestnut. However, I also wonder whether there is something in this world of words that mimics, in some way, the behaviour of a virus. It's infective quality. Words beget words.An unstoppable spread. And this leads me to the question: if I didn't live now - in our Times - would I have been lead to write myself? Is the proliferation of creative writing mirrored in the spread of words online? But you feel quite exhausted, gloomy; creaking with aches and an outpouring of bile.
Silence.