Hands_on_fire's profile

*IT IS! IT IS! IT IS!* (...what?) When I left high school, I imagined things would merely fall into place, that adolescent thoughts would leave me behind and that from then on it was a strait and sure path into…everything. Like an assembly line of education and people and businesses would just shuffle me down the path, giving me the things I was seeking. Just like: “Welcome to the highly efficient Life Builder, This assembly line pumps out thousands of the people you know and love every day! ...

---- The flower In sharp loathing reaches for the waining sun out of the cumbersome shadow of its foe. The weed, taller chokes it triumphantly and celebrates with overabundant company. ---- ---- The moon suffers shroud in sultry light shivering in the winter sky yet it begs for no clouds ----

So. I’ve been thinking about why I write. I bought a few notebooks, and I keep opening them, the blank pages are stark and expecting, and my hand twitches to write on them, but I can not. Something is holding me back. Perhaps, I was never meant to be a writer, only an artist. I’d much rather be good at one and not mediocre at both. But then, this blog comes to mind. Its never been a form of attention grabbing in the way most people intend live journals. It’s purely for my mind to communicate ...

I probably was a little too apathetic as I watched Theo raise the gun to his temple. I’m getting so used to the oddness of this process, but there’s still a little guilt when we have to do this. “Have any idea when you’ll reappear?” I grunt. “You know I don’t, Cass.” he puts the gun down on the dusty table next to him, pushing his chair back. The sound echoes through the wooden shack. He sighs, “You can’t keep makin’ small talk. I can’t keep a light chat going as I shoot myself.” “Right…” I ...