Joyful Chaotic Tumbling
I will be the first to admit that I tend to rely too heavily on blind chance in my writing. If my role be to illuminate a scene, I lead my readers with a flashlight and a snapping wrist. I don't lay down foundation, stone or sand.
Just ink and water and white.
I write with both an air of superiority and angst. I put down what appears best, and therefore end up both pridefully loving and abhorring what I write. Yet, I can't seem to shake the joy that comes from taking that plunge, and seeing something there that wasn't there before.
What constitutes a good walk? Is it ranked by the longest step? Or is it about the number of times one can go without tripping over their own feet? Is a good gait defined as being a light walk; barely touching the floor? Or is it a nice,hefty walk with loud tromps? Should we skip,sashay, or shuffle? Scurry, slip, or skedaddle? Is a good walk defined and regulated by an association that publishes guidelines and pamphlets about posture and rhythm? Or is the best walk defined as the most effective walk; in that it can cover the most distance in a minimal amount of steps?
Some people say that a walk can give away a lot about the kind of person you are, and how you feel. There is a reason “dragging your feet” and “skipping along” are terms synonymous with certain archetypes and emotions. A walk telegraphs character. A walk tells a room who you believe yourself to be.
So may you walk with confidence, and grace. With kindness and strength. Creativity, fondness, bravery, and (most of all) may you avoid tripping over a bit of especially thick carpet on your way in.
All that keeps us apart
All that connects us to each other, my dear.
All that I’ll find when I reach to catch a tear..
is silver and small.
is all I have
Found it when I looked back.
A look at the shadows
that haunt us ...
Time, time, time
is exactly what is amiss
and all that keeps us apart.
It would seem that nowadays I see myself being forced to write essays purely about writing essays. I put down my ideas in the exact phrasing I desire, and then I need to change them so as to match a constraint of length. Long, convoluted (and exciting) explanations become dry and cut; while petite ideas easily explained and understood in a flourish are purposelessly stretched out: ending up warped and torn like a piece of cloth that has been stretched too tautly. How to find the perfect length? One that drapes the idea in a comfortable yet practical way.
Facts are the currency through which we share things that are true,
(at least what we consider to be true)
and a wilfull breach into factual matters
is one that purposefully sets us all back in the progression of all that is us.
A currency is hurt by counterfeit,
it becomes updated and kept up by those who issue it,
it is to be respected and
uncorrupted by those who use it.
Let us not counterfeit facts,
let us keep them updated and up to standard,
let us respect the veracity and sanctity of facts and
let us not taint the truth for personal gain.
Inside my head,
I hear it plain and loud.
The result so vivid,
I want to bring it about.
Infantile until they emerge,
in my mind they flow and mature.
As action brings into light,
that which seemed obscure.
No evidence but that
which has already transpired,
only that I was inspired.
Should this (personal, logical when solitarily confined), be enough to excuse my acts?
[Intentions, quiet contentions. They are the infantile forms of action. And actions are the catalysts to results. We can feel intentions only through actions; pure intentions give off no heat, no smell, no sound. Is it a force to contend with no less?]
I advise you to think about the nature of impossible things. All things considered, the impossible is only a matter of perspective. We use it to label things that appear impossible to reach; we surely could not count up to an infinite number, because we would then need an infinite amount of time … and an equally infinite dedication towards counting. Yet we can think about the idea of counting infinitely, and that is a powerful thing.