Dear Burnt,
I.M.O stands for In My Opinion - something I learned today BTW. I.M.O, anyone who writes, on whichever platform, shares a part of himself or herself. Well at least that's what I think, hence, IMO!
So when I write about a vampire stalking its prey or a romance novel about a woman longing to be loved and penetrated by her neighbor, it could very well reflect my, or the writer's, as in this case, most intimate thoughts and experiences. Perhaps even the content itself will highlight this point, not calling for an in-depth analysis on each fucking line, which I tend to do a little too often. I said ''could.''
Hello Moderator, I begin to write. I don't know what to write but, I know what I wish to write. So many words to choose from and I can hardly spell. It teases my brain for hours at a time, just lying there, into a cellphone I stare. I wish today it teases me more, at least until inspiration hits the floor
Shit, there it starts again! This nagging fucking sound in my head powered by my over-analytic piece 'o shit we call a brain. Thoughts - they distract me all the time. Even when I'm thinking, for heaven's sake. Like a deadly virus caught in an overcrowded train. It grows and grows until your life becomes mundane.
Humming each word as I write... Thinking, "Fuck this shit, you're in for a fight." Bloody hell, have you even ever heard of a brain that hums while you write? Uh huh, do brains even hum? Who cares about the answers, you know what I mean. It's quite good at what it does, causes one to stop halfway through a story, never to return to that moment again.
Now there are no rules, because this is my task. Why should there be any, I often frown and ask. Once upon time I thought to myself, "What is Darkness and how does it Call?". The absence of light or the other way around. I check it again and make some notes.
The Psycho in me just wont let go.
What is it about writers and what they choose to write? They write so well on love and romance, on murder and crime. They write about evil and darkness and even abuse. And YOU write them all so well. Why would you care about what I think? Everybody wants to be loved again. We all want to feel important. There will always be that longing. This very need could be the cause of so many evils, so many deeds, as we search for that something to fill this deepening void.
Where do we look when we hope to find? Up in the sky! The heavens don't mind. It's easy enough to fool our minds, but our hearts will always praise the truth. Thank you for your patience ,YOU and, thank you for listening when no-one else did. I have much on my mind right now and I think I might just be sad... that would make sense in an era so mad. I doubt my heart will allow this glitch, it rarely agrees with "Life's A Bitch!"
My sister Ash just came from work, she's been more than kind in the last few weeks. She brings food to my room when I'm not feeling well. She entered just now as I lie in bed. She has grown so much. I don't think she knows how happy I am when she's at home - and in a good mood. I used to worry about her but, now I know she'll be fine. Thank you Ash.
Now back to the drama, where was I?
That ringing now gone. But fatigue settles in. Good thing I'm almost done making my point! I'm happy there are no rules for this task. I'm really bad at following them. This ending will leave me feeling undone.
Speaking of which, goodnight.
I.M.O stands for In My Opinion - something I learned today BTW. I.M.O, anyone who writes, on whichever platform, shares a part of himself or herself. Well at least that's what I think, hence, IMO!
So when I write about a vampire stalking its prey or a romance novel about a woman longing to be loved and penetrated by her neighbor, it could very well reflect my, or the writer's, as in this case, most intimate thoughts and experiences. Perhaps even the content itself will highlight this point, not calling for an in-depth analysis on each fucking line, which I tend to do a little too often. I said ''could.''
Hello Moderator, I begin to write. I don't know what to write but, I know what I wish to write. So many words to choose from and I can hardly spell. It teases my brain for hours at a time, just lying there, into a cellphone I stare. I wish today it teases me more, at least until inspiration hits the floor
Shit, there it starts again! This nagging fucking sound in my head powered by my over-analytic piece 'o shit we call a brain. Thoughts - they distract me all the time. Even when I'm thinking, for heaven's sake. Like a deadly virus caught in an overcrowded train. It grows and grows until your life becomes mundane.
Humming each word as I write... Thinking, "Fuck this shit, you're in for a fight." Bloody hell, have you even ever heard of a brain that hums while you write? Uh huh, do brains even hum? Who cares about the answers, you know what I mean. It's quite good at what it does, causes one to stop halfway through a story, never to return to that moment again.
Now there are no rules, because this is my task. Why should there be any, I often frown and ask. Once upon time I thought to myself, "What is Darkness and how does it Call?". The absence of light or the other way around. I check it again and make some notes.
The Psycho in me just wont let go.
What is it about writers and what they choose to write? They write so well on love and romance, on murder and crime. They write about evil and darkness and even abuse. And YOU write them all so well. Why would you care about what I think? Everybody wants to be loved again. We all want to feel important. There will always be that longing. This very need could be the cause of so many evils, so many deeds, as we search for that something to fill this deepening void.
Where do we look when we hope to find? Up in the sky! The heavens don't mind. It's easy enough to fool our minds, but our hearts will always praise the truth. Thank you for your patience ,YOU and, thank you for listening when no-one else did. I have much on my mind right now and I think I might just be sad... that would make sense in an era so mad. I doubt my heart will allow this glitch, it rarely agrees with "Life's A Bitch!"
My sister Ash just came from work, she's been more than kind in the last few weeks. She brings food to my room when I'm not feeling well. She entered just now as I lie in bed. She has grown so much. I don't think she knows how happy I am when she's at home - and in a good mood. I used to worry about her but, now I know she'll be fine. Thank you Ash.
Now back to the drama, where was I?
That ringing now gone. But fatigue settles in. Good thing I'm almost done making my point! I'm happy there are no rules for this task. I'm really bad at following them. This ending will leave me feeling undone.
Speaking of which, goodnight.
