i had a dream the other night that i read one of your stories. and you used words that i'd never heard of and yet instinctively knew their meaning within the context of their dictation.
and i thought of the words i had chosen, never quite felt as built up for the language that we bore. i've always constantly tried to live up to the works of my peers whilst maintaining a voice of my own, suitably guised in vague repositioning and alternative composition.
a far stretch from my everyday vulgarity and commonplace 'likes.'
i'm constantly fixated how my heroes create, and in all honesty maturation comes with diligence and patience, both of which i'm more of a visitor within realm. i have a certain imbalance of ADD and OCD, which can work wonders given the right split.
i see friends with great ideas and i regularly change my mind on directional facilitation.
i'll continue to write but i am not certain i will understand all the components of good writing until i'm lost in it.
and what is this, an exercise in manual cognition.
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