I am completely overwhelmed as usual, unable to do anything but twitch uncontrollably in an uncomfortable chair, type incessantly, and attempt to put something of value here. That is the problem, value is something that is so difficult to ascertain that writer's block becomes inevitable -- each word weighing so heavily -- that I wonder if I would be better of slamming my head across the table for the next ten minutes. This self-editing, this delusion of greatness has always been my major flaw, because even if I am eventually going to 'achieve' something with my writing, the overbearing tonnage of ego becomes wrought steel braces, Sisyphus incarnate; the goal the endpoint always unattainable as the horizon always lies in the distance.
Overly flowery? Probably. My professors were never the greatest critics for my writing, either were my friends; so mired in their responsibilities for kindness and friendship they became essentially deaf-mute to the prepubescent failings of my written word. It's like asking your parents for a critical examination of something you've created, this whole unconditional love-what-you-do-because-I-love-you ends up making everything you do free from flaws; you're still their child in need of encouragement.
I don't know if this is a 'point' or anything, but it would be nice every once in a while, especially when I ask you kindly for an honest critique, that you look past what maybe an uncomfortable moment and say: (A blunt overall reaction to the piece) followed by (Specific^1)(Specific^2)(Specific^3)... ->Infinity. This is true kindness, true love, true growth. I know of few people who can see beyond themselves enough to appreciate objectivity, our eyes are unfortunately only connected by a series of dynamic bais'd lenses unable to make true objective sense. You see, I sort of like what I've written here, and I know it's shit.
Overly flowery? Probably. My professors were never the greatest critics for my writing, either were my friends; so mired in their responsibilities for kindness and friendship they became essentially deaf-mute to the prepubescent failings of my written word. It's like asking your parents for a critical examination of something you've created, this whole unconditional love-what-you-do-because-I-love-you ends up making everything you do free from flaws; you're still their child in need of encouragement.
I don't know if this is a 'point' or anything, but it would be nice every once in a while, especially when I ask you kindly for an honest critique, that you look past what maybe an uncomfortable moment and say: (A blunt overall reaction to the piece) followed by (Specific^1)(Specific^2)(Specific^3)... ->Infinity. This is true kindness, true love, true growth. I know of few people who can see beyond themselves enough to appreciate objectivity, our eyes are unfortunately only connected by a series of dynamic bais'd lenses unable to make true objective sense. You see, I sort of like what I've written here, and I know it's shit.
