As previously mentioned, I’ve been suffering from some writer’s block recently, especially when it came to what might be known as “creative writing”, as opposed to this bland pastime we call a blog. I either have words that sound nice but have no meaning, no theme I want to impart with them, or else I decide on a theme and find that no compelling images come to mind, nothing that I don’t toss away as banal and boring.

So I decided on a change of scenery, internal, though, and not external. As we speak, so to speak, I am sitting in a bar with my laptop, hogging a corner with my headphones on. I know I paint a peculiar picture, hooked up to to the ‘net while my fellow patrons indulge in socializing, but the discrepancy serves me well, as does the constant conflict between the Pixies playing into my ears and the bar’s DJ thundering over, above and beyond my personal headspace. They knock horns constantly, sparks flying every which way, Frank Black’s breathless panicky vocals vying with hip-hop and electronica, which adds to the the general air of surrealism which I crave. The bourbon, certainly, lends a not-unpleasant odor to the mix.

Is it working, though? I am trying to translate my abortive Iggy Pop paragraph to English, translate a Margaret Atwood poem to Hebrew, and maybe even write something original for a change. I don’t know if it helps, but for now I’m enjoying it.