it's still there sitting still inside those bars the pages we drew together not yet finished will it still sit there to many more chapters together, as they say or will it be covered in dusts somewhere no one knows it exists
Fear not the candle burned at both ends, A silent dawn of broken words and disintegrated phrases, For you have attended to the tremblings of your soul And made them known to yourself.
Empty of struggle and replete with possibility, I meet the page unfettered by convention. For a mind exhilarated by exhaustion, anything and everything is open to reinterpretation. Solitude rendered absolute; no graceless distraction. Silence made holy; no retrieval from the brink. How to outrun quotidian considerations? How to distinguish between the rarefied and the fundamental? There is language. There are limitations. There is the writer…feeling soundlessly.
‘I slept with faith and found a corpse in my arms on awakening; I drank and danced all night with doubt and found her a ****** in the morning.’ - Aleister Crowley
for leaving a comment on a post about Orangutans. The article was about how they found that primates have an actual language. It's not like I said "duh". Another person said that they were probably talking **** about us. My comment said "**** them"!
Thanks Facebook for helping me realize that i'm not funny. And thanks for giving me a week to think about my actions(or what some lifeless ***** thinks is an action). A facebook ban is in the best interest of anyone who gets banned. Anyone who reported my comment as hate speech, has a lot more to face up to than me...and it's all saved on the master server.
A week of full on, beautiful reality.
if typing out a stupid thought is an action, we lose our rights...and many great writers would have never existed. I got your backs, even though you would stab mine.
. .. ... .. . The blank page... I heard writers experience this often, but not me. Either I am not a novelist, or I'm the best one ever. How can you not find something to write on a white piece of paper, I mean a white computer screen. Maybe it's because I am penning about anything that comes to my mind, no structure, no narrative, no lesson... nothing to trigger the ego or the pride. Just pure random, meaningless writing. That's my therapy.