Saturday, September 17, 2011

sold

This is as close as I have come to a steady hum when elation and depression are found on the same line and lack the peaks and valleys of earlier years. The surge of an electrical impulse quickly disperses. I say hello to my pituitary gland, the hypothalamus does not warm my soul and the cortex only gathers the information. What I do with this becomes my own hallucination in one sense a story in the other.

Somewhere in time I had to decide what could be sold and value it enough to give it away as charity. It became the most personal of choices and my value speaks nothing of yours. This is not good or bad, better or worse. It is fleeting with judgement serving as a distraction.

Thus, it makes absolutely no sense that I would enter a competition unless in some silly small way I needed to step outside myself, throw myself among peers and be judged by experts in the field of story. Fiction even.

This contest.

The only way I can write the first word is to say it doesn't matter. That's when writing gets fun for me.

Do you like to write? If so, you do it too.


Otherwise, I am humbled you are here reading my ramblings. Have I said thank you? Not enough I haven't.




To: You
From: Me

Thank you. I can't tell you enough, thank you.





In celebration of stories and music I think we could listen to Tom.

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