10 views
We All Going To Be Hisstory: A Prophecy Begins.
47,484 words and counting, wow and to think I hate writing. I want to find rest I have an uneasy day ahead of me so I will end this brief whatever you take it as with a few twists and turns like the making of Harry Potter or The Lord of the Rings (who is The Lord of the Rings anyway and why doesn’t Tom Riddle get his own movie?)
I have always made a silent pushing force to what I should find meaning in or rather what my heart feels at ease doing, I have never found it, I thought music would do it but you know how that goes. I’m forever changing like the clouds; they never really stay the same (where have you ever seen the same cloud?).
My brothers all have it, you know that constant thing, that drive, those late nights and early drives away from home to get what’s theirs in the city and I’m just a fly painted on a wall although the artist is the likes of Picasso, his pictures have never been in motion so it’s hard for me as his art to switch from gear to gear. So one night I laid on that wooden floor and thought to myself, well I was actually listening to those many motivational videos you get to download and keep over a period of 29 days over the platform, YouTube.
Thank you, YouTube, I’m always tuned.
Too many writers write for the wrong reasons. They want to get famous or they want to get rich or they want to get laid by the girls with bluebells in their hair. (Maybe that last ain't a bad idea).
When everything works best it's not because you chose writing but because writing chose you. It's when you're mad with it, it's when it's stuffed in your ears, your nostrils, under your fingernails. It's when there's no hope but that.
Meditation, night over night and so I listened on after some nights went by, I tuned in again, offline like always and there I was laid on that wooden floor.
We work too hard. We try too hard.
Don't try. Don't work. It's there. It's been looking right at us, aching to kick out of the closed womb.
There's been too much direction. It's all free, we needn't be told.
Classes? Classes are for asses.
Writing is as easy as mowing the lawn when your grandfather is watching on from his white, 1993 Toyota Corolla 1.6 GL
Or you drinking a bottle of beer, Black Label in my case, I’m a blowing fan. Writing is really easy, look. Here's an example:
“Once upon a time in a far, far away place, the nameless city they call it.
A young brown skinned boy began writing a story…”
Thank you, enjoy my Novel, it’s the first of my seven trilogy series.
Happy New Year. Endenvale, Johannesburg 0:50, Monday, February 3, 2020.
Hey Reader! have you read it yet?... inbox me if you are a cat in wonder.
I have always made a silent pushing force to what I should find meaning in or rather what my heart feels at ease doing, I have never found it, I thought music would do it but you know how that goes. I’m forever changing like the clouds; they never really stay the same (where have you ever seen the same cloud?).
My brothers all have it, you know that constant thing, that drive, those late nights and early drives away from home to get what’s theirs in the city and I’m just a fly painted on a wall although the artist is the likes of Picasso, his pictures have never been in motion so it’s hard for me as his art to switch from gear to gear. So one night I laid on that wooden floor and thought to myself, well I was actually listening to those many motivational videos you get to download and keep over a period of 29 days over the platform, YouTube.
Thank you, YouTube, I’m always tuned.
Too many writers write for the wrong reasons. They want to get famous or they want to get rich or they want to get laid by the girls with bluebells in their hair. (Maybe that last ain't a bad idea).
When everything works best it's not because you chose writing but because writing chose you. It's when you're mad with it, it's when it's stuffed in your ears, your nostrils, under your fingernails. It's when there's no hope but that.
Meditation, night over night and so I listened on after some nights went by, I tuned in again, offline like always and there I was laid on that wooden floor.
We work too hard. We try too hard.
Don't try. Don't work. It's there. It's been looking right at us, aching to kick out of the closed womb.
There's been too much direction. It's all free, we needn't be told.
Classes? Classes are for asses.
Writing is as easy as mowing the lawn when your grandfather is watching on from his white, 1993 Toyota Corolla 1.6 GL
Or you drinking a bottle of beer, Black Label in my case, I’m a blowing fan. Writing is really easy, look. Here's an example:
“Once upon a time in a far, far away place, the nameless city they call it.
A young brown skinned boy began writing a story…”
Thank you, enjoy my Novel, it’s the first of my seven trilogy series.
Happy New Year. Endenvale, Johannesburg 0:50, Monday, February 3, 2020.
Hey Reader! have you read it yet?... inbox me if you are a cat in wonder.
