On (not) writing....

I found it impossibly hard to chose a title for this entry, simply becouse I am still not quite sure what I want to write in it...
Actualy the idea behind it is just that - writing...

As I was sitting in front of my monitor right now I experienced another one of those moments that in the past used to provoke a rather uncontrollable urge to open a .doc file..
In that file I would normally start creating cruel language constructs, that if I was some one pretentious enough to wear a scarf and always make sure my coffee was "100% organic" would have most likely called "my art". Most of the time those things turned out horrible, sometimes - decent , and once , you might be surprised to hear - even good (But SRSLY that only happened once).
I used to indulge myself into creating set pieces of stories or surreal depictions of purely psychological phenomenon. Strangely enough those were normally related to conditions or states of mind that I had never experienced myself, but which apparently I felt secure enough and thought I knew well enough to write about...
What is more interesting is actually the endless philosophical question "Why" - and not the "Why the hell was I writing those abominable THINGS ?" that so many innocent victims of my attempts of creative prose would like to ask.
Instead the question is "Why the hell am I not writing them anymore?" which I find myself asking every time one of this "provocations of my mind" happens and I manage to successfully counter this time around...
There is no doubt that I was most certainly enjoying the process of putting fictional characters, stories and places in words and giving them a solid static depiction in a physical(ok - semantic) body...
I also have a solid proof that I was emotionally invested it the process of creation itself, as apparently (as I now find) I would write while being only half aware of what exactly it was about. It seems more like a subconscious therapy to purify my thought, than an attempt to create a solid narrative or an action-consequence chain, or even to simply make sense at all. Honesty demands that I admit that such a "therapy" would still be welcomed once in a while.
It seems too that being the egocentric(or should I even say , egomaniacal) person that I am I also enjoyed being self-important with what I wrote and present it to others, no matter at what stage of creation, or more importantly - quality it was...
As I look in the old files now it also seems there was a certain level of progress between the beginning and the end of this period (which lasted roughly 4 years) and knowing that I still find achievement and the visible aspect of progress the best motivation, it really seems highly unlikely I would just suddenly lose interest in it.

The easiest explanation would be of course the fact that as I went to Finland for my exchange, I found myself in a context that demanded that I change my main language of communication, and this influenced my thought processes and perception on the socio-cultural factors, that originally lead to me writing.
This explanation would be quite satisfactionary....NOT! - As satisfactionary as this would be from the point of view of philosophy of communication, semiotics of language and socio-linguistics, it is simply too easy of an answer...Not to mention that I was perfectly capable and was apparently writing in English when it would express the idea better.
Another possible explanation would relate to the fact that even before going to Finland I had entered a state of personal metamorphosis. One that centered more around extrovert social interaction then passive introvert rational (and ergo - artistically emotional) reflection on myself. As this state of mine progressed and I apparently attained the same "piece of mind" through it that writing was providing, the latter became unnecessary as a tool....
This answer is a lot more sound in my own mind than the first, but it still lacks a point of reference to the simple fact, that apparently at one point some little part of the machinery in my head was ticking in the rhythm "it is fun!".
So I find myself having to look for a third answer that would combine both the social and psycho-semiothical reasoning of the first two and provide a satisfactionary answer to the "So why did I stop if it was fun?"
For this I would have to also considered the fact that this "event" occurred at the same time as when my gaming habit became more centered around the concept behind games , than playing itself.
A sudden twist from a pro-active to a pro-analytical position in opposite of what happened to my social experience.

It would be fair to assume that these "creative outbursts" were providing me with the same form of emotional and empathic sustenance that games did - a form of creative escapism, that allowed me to engage in situations and settings that I found more satisfactionary and "fun" to deal with then what my Real Life interaction allowed me to.

In writing I would engage mostly in narratives of the same "dark, tragic, yet dramatically idealized and heroically stimulating" that I mostly associate with my preferred game genres (RPG and Survival Horror).
More importantly - I was apparently capable of(in difference of virtuality, or of course - reality) AESTHETICLY adapting it to my own preferences and tastes and filling it with visual styles , city and landscapes and characters that LOOKED the way my own imagination would find pleasing for a reality, fitting for my perception to look.
Weird enough, it turned out that Finland (as an environment and as people I came to be in contact with) in a very specific way filled those gaps in my perception of reality - purely audio-visually that before those disjointed stories and fragments served to fill. In other words - writing became less of a necessity as soon as my persona started discovering in reality , that which before I had already established as appealing to me in writing. And of course the more engaged I found myself in my social and material experience, the less appealing did the written one become.
In a way the profanity of my own creative reasoning put an end to the creative processes it once inspired....

Which can only lead me to think - Did I set my own borderline too low, or are there just too many people more narcissistic than me trying to escape into their own little worlds and letting everyone know about it ?

Music at the time of this entry:
Grendel - B.A.A.L (Deliver me)
Akira Yamaoka - Dance with The Night Wind
Depeche Mode - Fly on The Windscreen
As|P - Ich Will Brennen
Alice in Videoland - Going Down