Things I’ve written, things I’ve said, things I’ve thought about and tried to remember to write down, all stare at me as I stare out the window, wondering when they are going to be brought to life. Funny thing is that I’m thinking the same thing as I stare into the world outside, wondering when the world will write me, when the world will let me live the life I want, not just the one I’m given, because that one is for shit and I really don’t want it anymore.
I write and I feel good, but I know I’d feel better once I finish and send it out into the world. Do what it may, I know it may fail, but at least I will have tried. Who knows, maybe people will like it. I do, and I’m a picky reader. I used to wonder if it was just based on luck, because I’m just about as unlucky as they come. It would explain a lot, but then again, I really don’t want to lay my life into superstitions. That would defeat my “free will” speech. I also think that there is way too much to do in one life. How the hell am I to just pick one? and maybe something on the side for a hobby? Crap. I want to do so much, with so little time and money, and now, health. So I sit at my computer and hack out a few words that may or may not make sense to anyone passing by. Sorry if it doesn’t: welcome to my world.
Check out the tab above labeled Ecritures: I found the beginning of a story I started writing a while ago. It wasn’t meant for anything epic, but I thought it may be kind of fun to write. I spent quite of bit of my teen years in cemeteries, getting to know the residents, and heck, if I was going to be spending eternity somewhere, I’d really like to get to know my neighbors. Enjoy. Or not….