"Seufzer. — Ich erhaschte diese Einsicht unterwegs und nahm rasch die nächsten schlechten Worte, sie festzumachen, damit sie mir nicht wieder davonfliege. Und nun ist sie mir an diesen dürren Worten gestorben und hängt und schlottert in ihnen — und ich weiß kaum mehr, wenn ich sie ansehe, wie ich ein solches Glück haben konnte, als ich diesen Vogel fing."

"I caught this insight in mid-flight, and quickly seized the nearest rather poor words to pin it down, lest it fly away again. And now it has died upon these words, and hangs and flaps in them -- and I know not any more, when I look at it, how I could have had such joy when first I caught this bird."

I have begun to write again -- though I repeatedly feel it is just an exercise in the brutal science of torture. I seize upon something so vibrant and compelling that my mind becomes a steaming, churning mill of conceptual activity. And the greater and more beautiful the thought, the more eager I grow to put it into writing. And so I sit down and tie my ideas to the chair, and begin to cut at them, tear at them, and beat them with poles. So it is that after a time, I have completed my thought -- and offer a written corpse, bloodied and broken. Sometimes I look back at it, and wonder how I could ever have been so thrilled. Nietzche's passage has always been, for me, one of the most resonant statements ever penned. His corpses are more lovely than mine.

مراجعت می کنم

Yes. I am coming back online. And there's gonna be a reackonin'.