Who writes

The writer pursues a gust of insights on the surface of which the thought snaps, in the presumption of being able to translate the inside with words that are able to catch the wind. The thought does not know where in the dark the inspiration delivery to mind his ghosts to carve, yet formless, as sketchy ideas rejected by nothing. There must be a slit, at the center of our being, crossed by a continuous flow of blurred images that seek reality. The mind can not describe the source, because it is committed to hunt their prey, to gorge themselves on the meanings that ignores.To view this we need to go back the creative act, in the silence that begins to vibrate. The writer draws contours that describe the limits, in an attempt to give one direction at a thousand ways that the logic fails to contain.