On Writing

Writing is like going to war. There are a lot of inflated egos involved. Most times the issue has been blown out of proportion. Other times there is no issue, just a need for blood, carnage and destruction. Except every innocent civilian killed, imprisoned, kidnapped, raped, mutilated – those tortured and those that torture – are all visions of the narcissistic soul that sits, silently, holding a pen.

I dont think I’ll go places. I’ll give up some day and decide to go live in the caves.

I finished the two gifts I was making! :L I are happy.

I feel SO FUCKING USELESS!

I MUST CREATE!!! I MUST!

A moment ago I knew what to write here.

Blurb

You search for empty pages on which to relieve yourself. The sinking heart, the cluttered mind. Outside the window pigeons flutter away, one after the other. You have taken to letting the words pour out of you, with no control. It doesnt work. There is only so much you can write before you have to write the truth.

I HATE 2009

loving this capslock key though.

IT NEVER FUCKING ENDS!

Talent?

What good is talent when it cannot be embraced?

No, I can not

is very fucking hard to say.

I just realised…

“erratic sleep pattern” might be an oxymoron…because something thats erratic doesnt have a pattern to it.

I shall shut up now.

Some stories

never make it to the ending

Random Thought

its fucking freezing and the only reason I’m on the computer is because its keeping my lap warm.

I miss my bed.

Out of Touch

is the new “in” thing.

As are these little blurb things. Get used to them.