Sunday, February 24, 2008

An Empty Chair


This is basically rants I have because i have not been able to sleep. Just felt like writing something nice for people to read. Something Nostalgic. Something..... literary significant....

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As i open the window to the vast empty life that fills the tables in front of me, i have come to realize that maybe my life has not been that wonderful. I might have been acknowledge and duly attended to and yet there is a feeling of a destiny unfulfilled. A job not done. A word not said. A life not begun. I have no idea actually how to go through life. I even sometimes wish i had hunches on how to go through life, but i don't. The reality of it is this. I am scared of what life has in-store for me. i am afraid of looking down the road behind me and realizing that in the past few years i have lost my self. I am scared of losing my passion. The passion i have grown inconsiderably fond of. The passion that makes my heart pound in a million beats just thinking or talking about it. My passion for good, uncensored by culture, significant, untimingly beautiful writing. A string of words attached together to create chains of sentences which feeds the soul, clams the mind and questions convention. The passion to look at every day of life as a day that started as a surprise. i dare not question what life has lined up for me, for i am afraid life forgot about my passion.

When i talk about what i love most, writing, i am also questioned to the idea of losing that love for words. That gazing amazement towards literature, that quip of laugh at a smart line and an awe for the amazingly patriotic, passionate, true lines written then spoken. The structurally sound format of writing a speech that breaks boundaries and questions and defies conformity and mindless obedience. That rebellious flair for disobedience and self worth. The truth.

Words are not spoken, they are read. And reading them aloud is just a form of hellish repetition and yet reading, understanding and a little bit of imagination... is what i like to call... magic.

The gift in life for me is my love for words. My love for the beautifully written, the ugly truth, the luxurious and vast quantities of unneeded words in order to exaggerate what is beautiful into godliness. The pink in a flower petal, the gold in the sun, the blue in the sky... simplest joy of words that has touched and made the imagination of millions in the world soar like eagles.

I am afraid of losing that i am in love with. I am afraid of losing my passion of the wonderfully written. And i am afraid that one day i might lose the passion of not only to read and understand, but also i am afraid of one day losing my ability to write as beautifully as i want. "Do not restrict me, let my words be beautiful because my life is not" Thoreau.

Then do not restrict me, let me write what i want, how i see fit. Let me gaze upon the inevitable truth and string the words of my life into sentences to tell the story of a lifetime. Let me sink the world in a sea of words so beautiful that god gazes upon it just a minute longer. Let my writing stop time and death so when in the future when men will still adore literature, they will adore what i have written and find me....immortal....

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p/s - i wrote this just because i was writing down what i was feeling in my head... yeah i do that sometime.. i feel it and i write it down... you might not understand it... but i just wanted to write something.... well... something beautiful... enjoy..

1 comment:

Summer said...

Indeed. God’s gift to you… is to be able to connect string of words beautifully.

Your words inspire people with awe… make them wonder and fear at the same time...makes them smile and bleed simultaneously.

It‘s good to be scared. It means you still have something to lose…but please don’t lose that something…the passion.

Keep it yet spread it.