Friday, November 13, 2009

there is something to be said for the way my fingers press on to the keys, the page, like a string of the simplest song that i know all of the notes by heart and feel them pulsing through my veins, my vines, this web of strings stuck spun and stung into my spine. when people refer to writing as an escape i think that's bullshit, this is the most in tune that these fingers of strings have ever become. the writing gets things going and makes connection(emotion), possible by relating these fires into words.. articulating my mental jabber, my thoughtless brain can finally speak and be thought about,have pages, own sentence structures and sizes and colors of fonts and autographs, these whispers of longing and exhilerated rush. i love this. i wouldn't settle for anything less than my fingertips orchestrating a slew of words that rips soul out of a place that i didn't know where it was until i had the time to write it all down. what a gift it is to appreciate simplicity, articulation, sentiment. what a blessing it is to be consumed with language. what a blessing it is to keep writing without looking at what is on the page.

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