I’ve tried to put you down on paper so many times.
But you keep getting up.
— I Wrote This For You
The midnight hour fell short of the lavished expectations the humans placed on her, but this did not matter, for tomorrows were endless for the mysterious lady of time.
You have to make all of it up. You have to make all of it, yourself.
— I Wrote This For You
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Jay-Z & Kanye West
“Niggas in Paris”
…Because it’s provocative.
7 notes / 243 plays
Unfortunately
The pen and the paper seldom meet for the means of independent art nowadays. My life is dominated by the pressure to fulfill, philosophical game play and journalistic inquiry. I’ll stitch up this unfortunate wound in due time, but for now, the career is calling.
- Dallas
I want my words to define themselves.
All the effort in the world won’t matter if you’re not inspired.
— Chuck Palahniuk
A Mindless Epic
Scrawls across pages saying nothing in particular, this was my greatest accomplishment on this Monday afternoon. T’s crossed at their midsection and I’s dotted off-kilter, accompanied by their consonant and vowel brethren filled the once empty products of a tree sacrificed for my art form. Calling this an art is actually quite comedic, considering these scrawls are anything but. They may tell tales of trepid trips and triumphant takings, but who really wants to be bombarded by such? Every story of heroism and conquest claims to be of epic proportion nowadays, so what exactly would make mine any different? Maybe it’s slightly unusual that my protagonist fails to show any progression by the end of the piece or that the town she is trying to escape from is anything but horrendous. Maybe it’s all too expected that her tone is sardonic or that her inner thoughts are spilled across every page. Maybe it’s just plain uninteresting that she does not fall in love with the man she should or that she has little desire to chase him when he abruptly, but expectedly departs. There is, quite obviously, more in the midst of these minute details, but why would I hand feed my unpublished ideas to a crowd of unadoring, uninterested observers. In actuality, I’d much rather them think my scrawls are of nothing in particular than know for a fact that they are something precise—precise and award-winning… of epic proportion, really.
- Dallas
I want my words to define themselves.
