Writing falls on you like an avalanche, waterfall sweeping away all other, less important things, forcing you on a front line with your pen and paper or more likely smart phone or tablet. Things've changed and there isn't always anything to scribble on, plus it's easier to correct and save instead of carrying heaps of papers with questionable handwriting and strange abbreviations that might as well make very little sense later on.
Words are pouring in, back and forth as you go, at home or city trains, anywhere they can catch your attention.
Operating on some other level you look from various angles at world around you and somehow see more than just the surface of busy streets with people and scenery constantly changing appearances, somehow you recognize the pattern in this chaotic flow and start plotting the next step. You can write about it or not, you can revisit it later in months or years, or you can fly over the whole big picture and capture it right now when it's happening, right then and there, on the spot, untainted by blurry memories and later regrets. After all, it is happening right in front of your eyes, something that one day will become a story to tell, mood to capture and try to pull it out of the dusty pockets of memory to look at one more time with nostalgia and sadness of fading away time.
It might be important or mundane and you won't know it right away. Events are random pieces that may or not come together to form an unforgettable fabric.
Who would know? Today stones under your feet might as well be the roof above your head in some other reality that you are not aware of at this moment.
The incredible pace flies you over all this trivial little details allowing to select the ones you deem worthy and bring them to light, give them color and shape and personality to live on at least for a while, in the limelight of attention.
Squeaky sound of trains pulling off the platforms, unavoidable noise of announcements is just a background for the bigger drama unrevealing on the stage with people and things around not knowing that they're in it.
Time operates on two different lines. Sometime they cross but mostly running in parallel, one always faster than another.
Thoughts are ruffled, interruptions happen again and again but don't matter. Dancing on the glass screen fingers are busy trying to follow the unrealistic pace of thoughts and images swirling in your mind, to record the bits and continue with this strange gallop until the final stop when you can sit back and look at what you've done, surprised by the length, direction or choice of words that seem to have life of their own breaking out in the open from the recesses of your subconsciousness that can no longer contain them inside.
The ride is over, train of thought is slowing down, the thrill is wearing off, leaving marks of something that has just happened and still doesn't have any name, looking to live and be seen, to tempt and challenge every fiber of your being out of cosy predictability, braking barriers of logic and it doesn't matter at all.
The tidal wave has come and gone leaving you on the shore to wait until the next ride.