I wish writing was as easy as this makes it appear.
i wish i could just create one perfect sentence and then wait for the remainder of the paragraph magically spawn from that sentence and it’s spotless fucking perfection, for the rest of the paragraph. Then i’d spend five minutes putting together the next perfect sentence, and wait for that motherfucker to grow into a paragraph, and just keep doing that until i’ve got a goddamn masterpiece composed of strokes of genius.
You know the difference between being a borderline psychotic and being an unrealized genius?
Poverty.
That’s suppose to be a joke but it’s really more of a confession if i start thinking about it. I’ve started praying into unplugged telephones just to hear myself talk about my crazy contusion of worries and paranoias and health nightmares. And it really didn’t matter if there was a God on the other end of the phoneline.
Probably had his hands full keeping humanity for tearing themselves apart like a rogue beehive in a civil war.
(Source: silent-musings)
