Thursday, December 23, 2010

...While Sipping on Wine

What would you write about at this hour?

Blank slate. Blank mind.

Background music. Background noise.

I forget I can write. Better than most. Most that I know. Clearly not mixing with the "write" crowd.

Pressure. Low. High. None. Do you feel it? Not what I seek. Not what I need. Fear, on the other hand, can drive one to do the unimaginable. The unthinkable. The never thought possible, but achievable.

I'm a realist. An imaginist. A dreamer only when I'm asleep.

Because realists know better and dreamers only hope for better.

The real world awaits, with a plateful of politics and sour grapes.

The meeting of real people. The unfazed and the two-faced. The sincere and the queer. The rich and the bitch.

My nouveau chapitre begins now. And I will wait no more.

To be published. To be heard. Not be rubbished or be stirred.

This is my book. My story. My life.

So read between the lines...

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