Im fearful slow and quite quiet. Take my time and get a good grip. Make an outline, plot out how the story should go, be prepared and ready for when the shit hits the fan.
Its all in the plan. Part of the plan is not to make plans,this seems to result in lies. Seems that when i don’t make plans for myself i make lies for myself. Oh its oki poor baby, you’ll get it next year. Remember baby steps.
“You are expected to fail, you know thats in the plan.” Dreams are damn good fun but you don’t really want to confuse reality with illusion (do you?). Concrete words and physical actions for fleeting visions and temporary emotions. “Its not real if it ’s not in the dictionary, and if it can’t be said than i must not feel it.”
these things i can’t describe, the faceless little creatures that lurk in the mist of my mind. Feelings and thoughts that whisper me tales of sharp flint, bad weather, and heartbeats.
the beast, the root of humanity. It speaks a language that man has all but lost in a storm of words. Less and less of us can hear it clearly everyday and fewer still can understand its archaic tongue. Whens the last time you had the fear? Our bodies speak this language to each other when ever they can, but we keep our feelings like toddlers on leashes; our ideals tell us better not than to risk a misunderstanding. Or rejection. You watch one hundred hugs go sailing by everyday, waiting for someone to hug all day, all night. Good thing? If one hundred hugs go by, how many murders……..
there are no words for such things and therefore they can not be. I won’t hide my face from something that has no word, no power, no hook. Can it really be there howling in the back of my skull, on an mound of nerves and electric blips, calling out to the cold luminescent rock that might be my soul. Calling out not for blood but companionship, trust, some other nameless horror willing to listen and call back through the void.
no, it can’t be. thats just the wind
