So... My fingers got out of the rust. I put some oil on them, and they started running again. I had been stuck on poetry mode for the last 2 years (in french here). This was the time I came back to my natal country after a long 30 years journey accross the oceans and continents. Since back, all I wrote was poetry. Mind you, poetry is great, fast, efficient. In poetry I learned to erase any extra words. In poetry, I cut to the essentials. Poetry, as a form of hacking: the shortest, most efficient code. Yet, my romantic mind longued to align a few words in order to form a sentence. As the waves passed, the ship started to sail smooth, and sentences started coming back. Often, I was told: "you think too much". Of course I rebelled against this thought, and defended my position best I could. Yet, it was a corect diagnosis. "You have too much wind" said an old Tibetan doctor I went to see a few years in a row. "You think too much" he repeated. The 3rd year, I finally got an explanation to his diagnosis. "It's ok to think. But it's better to think of butterflies" the old doctor said. Now, if this seems like a simple truth, simple things are sometimes the hardest to implement in our daily life.