Thursday, September 29, 2011

The Bag Is In The River

I love my life right now. It is fast paced and cut throat. It is based on
writing and knowing what to write.

If there is one thing that I must do at all times, without any sliver of
uncertainty, it is write. My fingers are exploding on the keyboard. They
are word bombs. Boom.

I carry a thunder stick. It is called a typewriter.

Months ago, I said I would go another 365 days with this blog.

Let's be honest; I haven't come close to doing that.

But in all things, in the core and at the crux of the matter, I must write.

Sentences fire out the tip of my word barrel. I am a linguistic assassin.

It's Friday. It's 12:51 am. And I'm having a bit of an awakening.

Bear with me.

Life will always present competition and hurdles that you need to clear in
order to get from obstacle A to obstacle B. One can only do the best they can.
Anything else is sublime. Anything extra is extraterrestrial. Anything
additional is gravy.

Write like the wind, dear friends - and the stories will follow.

A few weeks ago, while walking to school, I was stuck in the midst of a furious
hailstorm. It was magnanimous. It was crude. It was irk-ridden. But it was
real. While walking on a crestfallen loft of fresh cut grass, I saw white pellets
bouncing off the ground. I thought it was hard rain - but it was the real deal. It
was motherfucking hail.

I pulled out an umbrella and shielded my computer and camera bags. The hail
almost shredded my protection and clapped against the vinyl and metal in a
flurry of hellish speed. I stood near a fence and a tree as lightning danced
around me. I stood strong.

I made it through.

I had help.


website statistics