Why do I write? I do it because of a thrill to put words together that rhyme or make sense. I love that mere ink on paper could cross your eyes and nestle inside your cranium.
Is that a tear?
Did I do that?
Or did the complex reasoning of man become infected with the words I inflected to reach an objective that was not expected.
Did these simple ink stocks build a world upon flat landscape that was breathtaking? To write is a skill and the pen our tool. No age is beyond the ability to grasp the artisan’s weapon.
As a child, my poor script came together to enrapture me in a world of my own creating. Heroes who fought, villains were caught, justice was brought and all with a thought. This is where it starts. The mind. Our proverbial paint set. With time and knowledge we expand our colors. We go beyond red and blue to find purple, blue and yellow to see green, black and white to reveal gray, because that is our world. No single colors but a mix between left and right, up and down, smile or frown.
I don’t just write to entertain. That’s too simple. I want my soul to speak to you through the painted picture and enslave your emotions to the pace I make.
The cadence of my glyphs could idealize a whole solar system, a universe, a planet where technology has never made a foot fall or a modern time where man advanced through steam mechanics to realize an alternative future. Then I could take you to a calm place where there is lush foliage and evergreen trees that grow lackadaisically in the lush, warm, caressing hug of the sun.
Wait, the cadence is slowing, a death march.
A man stares at himself in the mirror with a razor in his hand. A mistake has torn him from his loved ones and, alone in this room, his torment has reached climax. The progenitor of hell whispers promises of the sweet embrace he offers, if the man would just glide the metal over a source of blood.
Why do I write?
It’s a way to fight the tyrannical trepidation of boredom.
It’s my way to express my feelings of despair.
It’s my way to share my most hilarious experiences.
Freedom is why I write. It becomes the bodies of our works and with it, we can affect generations.