Like a politician
I always try to salvage what was never there
I am mainly concerned with the artificial as opposed to the substantial
Writing is not a complex issue. One must simply know thyself; it is solely in this manner that the transfer of words from the cerebrum to the page can actualized, without any restrictions. These words must be expressed utilizing the utmost clarity for preserving the symbiotic relationship that exists between the reader and the individual who composed those words. For the sake of my ego, I must arrange words in beautifully proper form. The surplus of oxygen that emanates from my lungs is usurped by the paper. As life is breathed into the lines that constitute the page, I equitably follow suit.
Now, others may not regard my talent as entirely equitable in nature. My talent does not exist in an entirely visceral iteration. It is not easily recognizable because its beauty is solely recognized by the few and wise. And when the deserved merit is attributed to the word, even that cannot be so, for it defies the laws of this society. Its significance is immediately diminished by an achievement of lessened quality. Does no one hold the written word sacred anymore?
I regard the written word of utmost sanctity, because that the word is me. I am the word. I feel the proper arrangement of syllabi as I lay them across the page. All the merit and all the glory should be attributed to the word. Mediocrity does not constitute just cause for celebration.
And the deserved merits are attributed to these words as manifested by an honor or other prestigious emblem, its significance is immediately stolen by an achievement of subpar quality. Does no one hold the written word sacred anymore?
I always try to salvage what was never there
I am mainly concerned with the artificial as opposed to the substantial
Writing is not a complex issue. One must simply know thyself; it is solely in this manner that the transfer of words from the cerebrum to the page can actualized, without any restrictions. These words must be expressed utilizing the utmost clarity for preserving the symbiotic relationship that exists between the reader and the individual who composed those words. For the sake of my ego, I must arrange words in beautifully proper form. The surplus of oxygen that emanates from my lungs is usurped by the paper. As life is breathed into the lines that constitute the page, I equitably follow suit.
Now, others may not regard my talent as entirely equitable in nature. My talent does not exist in an entirely visceral iteration. It is not easily recognizable because its beauty is solely recognized by the few and wise. And when the deserved merit is attributed to the word, even that cannot be so, for it defies the laws of this society. Its significance is immediately diminished by an achievement of lessened quality. Does no one hold the written word sacred anymore?
I regard the written word of utmost sanctity, because that the word is me. I am the word. I feel the proper arrangement of syllabi as I lay them across the page. All the merit and all the glory should be attributed to the word. Mediocrity does not constitute just cause for celebration.
And the deserved merits are attributed to these words as manifested by an honor or other prestigious emblem, its significance is immediately stolen by an achievement of subpar quality. Does no one hold the written word sacred anymore?
