Today, we had a revelation about something. We call ourselves writers...but isn't writing with a pen and a paper? I don't know, is it? Techinically, what are we? What can we call ourselves? Typers? We're typers...new age enthusiasts...typing away 500 words in 5 minutes or less, depending upon the amount of cofee that has been drunk...drank.

Typing away to a generation that no longer cares for these things we call "books."
Who spit on the ground at the very mention of Tom Sawyer.

"Fuck Mark Twain" they all say.

Well we love you Clemens don't worry. We understand the use of language...the way people used to talk back then...the beauty and innocence of it. The use of "by and by" and calling a person, with perfect simplicity, a "body..." people don't talk that way anymore.

We miss it Clemens...so come on back.

But it's now...so what can we do? Keyboards are our best friends now...who needs a pen? We cannot get our little A.D.H.D minds set on a sentence long enough for our hands to stop before the next thought begins and the first one was ever even finished. Huh? Eh...who cares, move on we're all on ritalin anyway, aren't we? Metaphorically or Literally? Or both? Eh, (ellipsis, ellipsis)

So type short, brief paragraphs...we must hold these kids attentions. Smart, short dialouge pernounced in a way that they, and only they, can relate to.

Do not use big words...for it makes you look like a pompous know it all bastard to them.

We are "them" though, that's the real revelation.

We write this way because we are them...a hopped up generation...an A.D.H.D. generation...a drug addict, piss-poor generation. Look at this...we started something up top there and the end has nothing, and I mean nothing to do with the beginning...because we lose our train of thought...because we can't sit still.

But it seems like such a long time since art took a hold

musicians

painters

singers

dancers

please dont stop...you save us

Never stop.