Friday, May 21, 2004
The only Real Rhythm of the World
I should be out. Or in. Anywhere but here. Getting laid, working to get paid, trying to be made. But I'm not. I won't. I can't.
Because all I want to do is write. I want to let the rhythm flow, the words bounce, the letters cum. A sweet, perfect melody, one that finds itself, runs itself, and I can lose myself in. I want to sit back and look at my hands and marvel at them stroking over the keys so gentle but too fast for my mind to ever conceive. For it is then, and only then, that I believe in God.
All I want to do is write.
And so that's what I'll do.
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