I was meant for applause, I was meant for derision.
I was in the process of writing a literal narrative of what I had recently experienced, and then I stopped, mortified that I was turning into "THAT KIND" of a writer. I would have slapped myself, but the mental image of that ACTUALLY happening made me laugh and restart my writing. And so here we are.
I am not here to write about my day. I am not here to inform all 4 of the people who actually read this thing what I DID on a certain day, week, lifetime...whatever. Honestly, I NEED to write this thing for my own needs and myself only. I like to write, but I LOVE to create. I hear people tell me that they are "Good writers" when in fact have nothing to write about but the actions that took place during thier daily routine. I'm not saying that I havethe most interesting and compelling thoughts as I go about my life.....but come on, at least I have a reaction and an interpretation.
I want to write and publish these blogs because it gives me some small satisfaction that I've created a form of expression. And it gets me back into my old spoken word days. I recently started writing some spoken word (but that's all you're going to hear about that)
I've been thinking about some poetry that I wrote before...and I impressed myself. It's a good feeling to look back at something like that and think "Damn...That's GOOD." I kinda wonder what happened to have me stop writing poems of worth, or writing altogether. Did I lose interest or inpsiration? Or if both, which first?
I like that, in the face of desperation and isolation, I've been forced to start writing again. This gateway creative process is helping me to other, greater projects. Well, that and alcohol and caffiene, and perhaps my fever dreams.
I CANNOT stress how much my feverish inspiration of the last post helped me. It's....unorthodox, but it was necessary and COMPLETELY out my head. Flashes of inspiration came to me like lightning, but leftjust as quickly. I wrote for HOURS, paper, digital, blog...whatever came within reach. It was UNREAL. Too bad most of the writings were about how I view myself, as opposed to a screenplay I can sell for copious amounts of money, fame and fortune.
This doesn't mean anything, but it's been going through my head.
They say that a whisper
Damages your voice
More than a shout
That's why I will barely breathe
When I tell you those words.
So I will be telling you the truth
When I say
"This hurts me more than it hurts you"
So whisper something back to me
So I can belive that you will ache
To some degree.
Enh...it's not great...nor even good really, but I think there's potential there. Whatever, that was just running in my head the other day.
I went to go see Rise Against in concert and now I'm a fan.