The difference between writing, when writing is the object of a desire, and writing, when it is the dearth of one, is similar to the difference between consuming food through your mouth or your nostrils. One is precise; the other is either foolhardy or deliberate.
The object of scrutiny when two things are placed in contrasting contest is not spurious triumph, but progress through aptitude. Sometimes, it is essential to lose, and sometimes it is downright pivotal; it is forever substantial to remember that neither is success a construct of victories, nor is it a servant of one. Success lies deep in the path of experience and often, unknowingly, people who disembowel liquid, bungee jumpers, writers - pass it demurely. It is a fervent moment writhing within several unnamed others; it cannot be achieved, it has to be a yielding harvest.
In writing, there are no discoveries, only inventions – those, that either concoct interest or intrigue. If anything in the written connotation is a function of the former, it is languid and specious. If anything, at all, as it has been a rarity for so long, compromises with the latter, it is grand, unique, most welcome, and most awaited.
Once again, take notice – Any man can breathe. Any man can disembowel liquid. Any man can write.
Uselessness is an innate, inherent part of writing anything. Futility, you see, is perfect and the only thing that is so. Those who master it are legends, those who come across it accidentally are writers, and those who tend towards it are fools. Those who come closest are renowned as professionals.
Precision in any sort of writing is a triviality and a widowed cliché. There is no ‘bull’s eye’ in perspectives, in predilection or in opinion; it is consequential to generalize. A thing that is meant to socialize with more than a single existent word should never focus or centralize acutely. It’ll fail to stand ground, and eventually fail to impress.
There is still a last truth to reckon with, again and again, until it is defunct and old and as gray as cement stripping off naked walls – Any man can breathe. Any man can disembowel liquid. Any man can write. Learn to survive it.
The object of scrutiny when two things are placed in contrasting contest is not spurious triumph, but progress through aptitude. Sometimes, it is essential to lose, and sometimes it is downright pivotal; it is forever substantial to remember that neither is success a construct of victories, nor is it a servant of one. Success lies deep in the path of experience and often, unknowingly, people who disembowel liquid, bungee jumpers, writers - pass it demurely. It is a fervent moment writhing within several unnamed others; it cannot be achieved, it has to be a yielding harvest.
In writing, there are no discoveries, only inventions – those, that either concoct interest or intrigue. If anything in the written connotation is a function of the former, it is languid and specious. If anything, at all, as it has been a rarity for so long, compromises with the latter, it is grand, unique, most welcome, and most awaited.
Once again, take notice – Any man can breathe. Any man can disembowel liquid. Any man can write.
Uselessness is an innate, inherent part of writing anything. Futility, you see, is perfect and the only thing that is so. Those who master it are legends, those who come across it accidentally are writers, and those who tend towards it are fools. Those who come closest are renowned as professionals.
Precision in any sort of writing is a triviality and a widowed cliché. There is no ‘bull’s eye’ in perspectives, in predilection or in opinion; it is consequential to generalize. A thing that is meant to socialize with more than a single existent word should never focus or centralize acutely. It’ll fail to stand ground, and eventually fail to impress.
There is still a last truth to reckon with, again and again, until it is defunct and old and as gray as cement stripping off naked walls – Any man can breathe. Any man can disembowel liquid. Any man can write. Learn to survive it.
