It either one of two things:
1) your mind is as blank as the paper (or screen) infront of you; or
2) you are in a state of overload and cannot achieve the necessary focus to articulate whatever you are currently thinking / feeling / imagining.
Either way, the result is the same: you cannot, for the life of you, write. It's as if the world will shatter and your brain will implode (for the 1st reason, explode for the 2nd reason). You feel like you are forcing your own blood to travel to your fingertips and flow through your pen (or keyboard) just so you can express a coherent thought.
But still, you cannot write. And the aggravation of it all kills you and boils you from inside-out. You stare at your writing implements and it's enough to burn a hole right through it. Staring fixedly at that blank sheet, that blank page, that blank screen... and inwardly, at that blank mind.
But your mind is not blank, is it? You are lucid, you are imaginative, its just that you are incoherent. It's just that you are inarticulate. It's just that piece of paper staring right back at you, mocking you for your momentary show of weakness. It's just that pen laughing at your inability to guide it to the canvass of your dreams. It's just that screen placating you for your inadequacies of writing earth-shattering pieces of literature that you know you are destined to write.
And in the back of your mind you hear the roaring laughter of those unnamabe entities denying you of your god-given right to that Palanca Award, the Nobel Prize even.
You hyperventilate. You feel the tears forcing their way out of your eyelids and threaten to make way for a great flood of pent-up emotion that was supposed to be your ticket to monumental poetry, to glorious novels, to scintillating essays.
But still you can't write.
What do you do?
I'm feeling this way again. And I am envious of my past self to have articulated this, as I don't think the current me possess this kind of verbal acumen. Damn...