Free Writing

I have been told that the only way to write well is to simply write. Grammar, spelling, punctuation, that all follows after you actually get the word down on paper. Or in many of our cases, on the screen. However, the lack of ideas or subjects is what keeps many people from even trying to write. Henceforth, I shall write free writing entries once a week, starting this week. The actual day of the week will be sporadic, but I will write an entry each week.

Hook or by crook.

It is not to get readers. It is not to become popular. It is to force me to write.

No, I refuse to let it become a chore. It will be the only exercise my muse will ever get, and it will be good for the both of us.

As always, first thing that pops into my head shall be written down. It may end up as a copy-paste of existing lyrics, or gobbledygook. Whatever it is, it will be my free writing entry.

Now stand back, things are going to get nonsensical...

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Watches, time pieces meant to keep order, instil a sense of logic, remind us that we're late and inform us when our time is up. We rush, day in and day out into the busy streets, not realize, not caring that with each passing second, each flitting nanomoment, we are reaching our destiny.

Man was born so that he may die.

We have no other purpose in life. Placing ourselves in perspective to the universe makes us nothing more than dust on the atoms of a dust particle on an atom of yet another atom.

Great, my wonderful train of thought has just been derailed. Back to the drawing board, or the starting line, whichever, whatever.

Map, mapping, mainstream, mainstay. Google. Goggles. Gink. Gimp. Gleam. Glint. Yup. Hunt. Hut. Hup. Yum. Yup. Quack goes the weasel. Under the house and over the grass. Beyond the lotus blossoms and hydrangeas and hydras. Their venomous, acidic, mulberry breath gets underneath our skin and into our clothes.

The vessels of the blood have vassals worth their weight in gold. I can't even find pocket lint. Drown your sorrows. Cluster and unite. The collective is beautiful and the individual is lonely.

Roses are red, and beautiful by itself. The thorns imply their desire for solitude. If a human were to be akin to a rose, one must first shave their thorns so that one can pluck it. Grasp the stem, and crush the twig between your fingers. Feel the sap ooze from the ruptured veins and onto your skin. Listen as the bloom weeps pollen and latch onto your cells to devour your life.

Glittering gumdrops and jelly belly cakes. The ark is ready, sire.

She was beautiful, as beautiful as a rose. But once brought into a room filled with women similar to her qualities, you can no longer distinguish her from the rest. Together they blend into one solid mass of color that requires careful discernment to distinguish what shape or form they make.

I wish to be a whole. A sentient, congruent, inconspicuous, innoxious whole. Anxiety, gangrene, deranged, demented. Foisting off the responsibilities to another person. The lotus is beautiful in its ability to survive in the least pleasant environments.