how I interpret the writer's block

Even with the most ergonomic posture inhabited in a befittingly decibelled soundscape, with a most comfortingly frictionless drafting pipeline, I am sometimes met with a sluggish pain where no words come out.I have fixed my environment, but no words would come out. I have taken a hike, but no words would come out. I have made my roughshod first draft, atomically small and iterative, and no words come out.Well, it's not quite literal—I'm not frozen and unable to physically string together sentences. The block, essentially, is my inability to string together sentences—and thus, ideas—that assert their existence so potently, that no cold, clear-eyed backspace can justifiably be used against it.On reflection, this kind of fallowness in my writing isn't about the writing. It's a reflection of a general fallowness in my life. It means that life has set itself in an unfeeling regularity experienced mindlessly that cultivates a dullness that precludes good writing.The writer's block is a…