Does it matter? The word… the sentence… Does it matter that it is written, or spoken… Does it matter that it is read or heard or that it even exists? I don’t know sometimes if it makes a difference for me or anyone else… it just seems sometimes like so much wasted effort… or time- like playing solitaire. And yet something compels me to keep writing and writing and writing.

You create a word out of letters, a sentence out of words… all of it- ideas onto paper… that gritty scratch of a pencil lead. And it is those ideas… not the words and phrases… that sometimes simply seem to stop. And then there are the dull truths… the banal truism and cliches… the blah blah blah, that as much as one can manage objectivity seem to occupy my paragraphs… That when I take away all that is trite or meaningless or less than original… there is nothing left.

Writing when it flows is beautiful… when the prose comes easy and the ideas flow… When thinking is clear and concise and the words fit perfectly… it is like the color and composition, the forms and values all came into focus…

And when it doesn’t, it is like beating my fists into concrete and leaving little bloody florettes and nothing else… no damage to the pillar. No noise. No record.


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