Have you ever watched someone post their reactions to Doctor Who episodes that are like six years old on your facebook feed? Because I have.
Sometimes I forget to write, and then I forget to write, and I’m afraid that it’s all going to be a downward spiral which calamitously ends in losing all that I find to be me.
Hark, the hour of twilight is upon thee. The time when man sleeps and dreams and waking man harnesses those dreams in a way unlike any other. The time when waking man thinks and dreams upon paper, quill upon his hands and inkwell upon his heart, delving worlds undiscovered and foreign. The time is upon thee. The time is now, in the deep cold of night, when the sun has made it’s passing exactly as long ago as it has to return. The haunting, disconcerting resonance within each of us calls out, crying for an audience but finding none. Mostly in this silence and harrowing loneliness do we find ourselves wanting. I am left wanting.
Anyone want to be 3DS friends? Friend code is: 4012-4114-4230
Hit me up, especially if you have New Leaf, because that game is amazazazing.
Q:you have a mysterious air
I don’t know how to take this, mysterious is good, right? Like that badass in leather on a street corner.
I’m not sure I really live up to being mysterious though.
Q:Not a question, but still... I'm glad to see you're back. You've been missed on here!
Aww, why thank you milady, I’ll be here a bit more frequently, I hope. :)
Q:have you ever wished you could do over a relationship?
A do-over in a relationship can be a wonderful thing!
Q:Have you ever had a threesome?
Nope! Never ever! It’s never really been that big of a summit to conquer, I’m probably the only guy who has less-than-average interest in that. :/
Reblog if you want “have you ever” asks.
Have you ever had a thing that bothers you, just a little, and you think and think on it and it dwells in your heart. I shouldn’t say it dwells there, it more sits and waits, fills you with a hollowness that cannot be shaken, each time it’s presence is brought up it awakens, stirs, and grows in that hollow. Almost as if it is alive. Like the very thing you hate is being nurtured by your hate and your vengeance. Something insignificant and something that wouldn’t bother someone else, but to you it is your pet. Your little pet peeve that feeds and slurps up the miasma of ill will in your body and thrives.
Thrives until it transforms, almost without you noticing, into a fierce and fiery beast. A beast you can only hope to tame.
It’s stupid but I get upset and depressed sometimes and no one seems to understand or care or make an effort to cheer me up. If it’s someone I’m near a lot they just think I’m upset with them, but I’m not, I’m just down in the dumps, it’s an awful time of the year, there are too many horrible memories.
The Hands of a Writer
My hands are not calloused, they are soft, gentle. They are the hands of a creator, but stone and steel I do not build with. These hands are made for more delicate things. I build words, phrases, clauses, paragraphs, ideas, but more importantly, worlds.
Though I build worlds, people do not call me god. They call me man.
A brooding baron of the ballpoint pen.
A fearful pharaoh of the word processor.
I am those things, but more. I am a writer. Talk is cheap, but words, words are expensive.
A few of my favorite things…
- I love the smell of winter; that chill in the air, the aroma of frost and rime.
- I love the first sip of coffee; the curling of the upper lip before the touch of heat surges through the opening of my mouth, filling it with liquid energy.
- I love the smell of tomato stalks being pilled or cut; it transports me to my youth, running in the yard as my mother gardened.
- I love the feel of wood grain; the unfinished grooves and curves of freshly cut cedar or pine send shivers to my spine.