There is nothing more odious
than writing. There is nothing better than writing. It is a compulsion and a
need. It is an addiction and an affliction. It is a craving and an intoxication. When I write I scorn peril and
jeopardy and it allows me to soar and then glide. Words are my hegira. They are
my carefree. They are my abandonment and elopement. They are my escape and my
refuge.
My words define me and at times they defile me. Sometimes they elude me and often they delude me. Words are my counterfeit reality that I frantically and feverishly forge long into the lonely hours of dark nights. I am often oblivious to time when I write. I am in an abyss. When I can compose no more I then release my words and they flutter and fly. They scatter. They bloom and then whither. My words disenchant me and delight me. They are my curse and my blessing. They defeat me. They complete me.
My words define me and at times they defile me. Sometimes they elude me and often they delude me. Words are my counterfeit reality that I frantically and feverishly forge long into the lonely hours of dark nights. I am often oblivious to time when I write. I am in an abyss. When I can compose no more I then release my words and they flutter and fly. They scatter. They bloom and then whither. My words disenchant me and delight me. They are my curse and my blessing. They defeat me. They complete me.
They are my nothing and my
everything.
With strokes of my keyboard I
can make. I can create. At times the letters on my laptop are a clavier and my
fingers tap out music. In a blur they dance and careen fantasies and follies
and fatuities. There are truths hidden among the lies in writing and deceit
mingled with veracity. There are happy endings and sad endings and sometimes
there are no endings at all. When strung together in the right order words have
virility. They have power that can create and actualize imagination. They weave
dreams. They can infuriate and enrage. They can conceive laughter or spawn
tears. They can motivate. They can inspire.
There is nothing more odious
than writing.
There is nothing better than
writing.
It is a compulsion.
It is a need.
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