Again, my juices are flowing. When I feel something from a work of art, whether it be music, pictures, or writing, my juices flow. They flow in my brain, past my mouth, down to my hands, and through the ink of this pen.
It's like a last ditch effort to get something out there. I honestly don't know what else I'm talented in other than expressing as best I can through paper and pen how I feel. If I try to rhyme, there's a lot of filler and a lot is said just to keep an average flow. It just comes so forced, I feel too boxed in. I don't write poetry, because then I feel like it's gotta be artsy for arts' sake. So, at best, sometimes my writing is a watered-down prose mixed with boring sometimes unnecessary detail.
But fuck it. It's not for anyone but me anyways. It's when I start to think about what others would think about me when my flow gets stopped.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
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