To start this will not make any sense. It'll possibly end poorly and leave you unimpressed. However you will love it or hate it. None of which matters to me.
I've always heard the keys to being a good writer was quiet your brain. Uncluttered the chaos. The words will come out smother and organized. What if the brain is far too stimulated? What if the brain is so filled with cortisol that it can not filter out those loud and obnoxious thoughts!
It's almost as those the mind uses its host to spew out all those words, in order to relax its self.
Remember when Kurt Cobains lyrics were so heavy and raw. It didn't make sense.
Or perfect circle or tool sung it you listened.
People were ok with it. You just figured him/them out or you quit listening to him.
Now the precious audience has gotten so very dull and swallow!
A painful dose of a torn hearted words can be many layers deep ... You may see if you tried to penetrate; you just may see ones fibers. No ones listening ...
A romance dies everyday because the initial layer isn't appealing.
A gifted child gets misunderstood because they can not get to another's point. An angel is ignored for her honesty because no one is looking.
Makes you see why triggers are pulled so close to temple.
That trigger Is ideal for the quiet that it brings. You hear one last exterior disturbance and you a fated in silence.
Its actually beautiful. It makes sense. That's the desire of any heavy headed writer. One that just wants to spew out all the words, and never wants to feel those words again. It is mental coitus, the feeling is joyful. It's a gift.
To the artist...Doesn't it make you feel freer when those achy thoughts are gone? You can breathe freely. You can see straighter. You can plan forward. You can dig deep this time. Make you melt at that bliss.
To the meger conformist with their un-original-ness and gloats at mere common thoughts. Feelings are that the poetry and disorganization of you words are rammed and thrown about that loose leaf paper. That soul may view these words as foreign and dysfunctional.
What happened to the reader that took the time to read the script? The letter? the note? Maybe once? Then... once More? What happened to you?
Well it isn't the words its external garbage. The words are too damn confusing?
There use to be art in verbal banter. The more it didn't make sense the more intense it was.
The trigger as the silencer never needed to be pulled.
Where are our artistic poets... I need to know I'm not alone on this side. The anxious trigger happy...
I've always heard the keys to being a good writer was quiet your brain. Uncluttered the chaos. The words will come out smother and organized. What if the brain is far too stimulated? What if the brain is so filled with cortisol that it can not filter out those loud and obnoxious thoughts!
It's almost as those the mind uses its host to spew out all those words, in order to relax its self.
Remember when Kurt Cobains lyrics were so heavy and raw. It didn't make sense.
Or perfect circle or tool sung it you listened.
People were ok with it. You just figured him/them out or you quit listening to him.
Now the precious audience has gotten so very dull and swallow!
A painful dose of a torn hearted words can be many layers deep ... You may see if you tried to penetrate; you just may see ones fibers. No ones listening ...
A romance dies everyday because the initial layer isn't appealing.
A gifted child gets misunderstood because they can not get to another's point. An angel is ignored for her honesty because no one is looking.
Makes you see why triggers are pulled so close to temple.
That trigger Is ideal for the quiet that it brings. You hear one last exterior disturbance and you a fated in silence.
Its actually beautiful. It makes sense. That's the desire of any heavy headed writer. One that just wants to spew out all the words, and never wants to feel those words again. It is mental coitus, the feeling is joyful. It's a gift.
To the artist...Doesn't it make you feel freer when those achy thoughts are gone? You can breathe freely. You can see straighter. You can plan forward. You can dig deep this time. Make you melt at that bliss.
To the meger conformist with their un-original-ness and gloats at mere common thoughts. Feelings are that the poetry and disorganization of you words are rammed and thrown about that loose leaf paper. That soul may view these words as foreign and dysfunctional.
What happened to the reader that took the time to read the script? The letter? the note? Maybe once? Then... once More? What happened to you?
Well it isn't the words its external garbage. The words are too damn confusing?
There use to be art in verbal banter. The more it didn't make sense the more intense it was.
The trigger as the silencer never needed to be pulled.
Where are our artistic poets... I need to know I'm not alone on this side. The anxious trigger happy...
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