miércoles, 21 de septiembre de 2011

Day One: Hunting Is Not Those Heads on the Wall

Looking for a cure for Writer's Block, I took out an old book that my mom gave me, which follows a 40 day workshop to help anyone become a better writer. Lets experiment.

Begin writing, starting with the four words below. Write quickly, without thinking too much about what you want to say before you write. Write for ten minutes. Time yourself. When I write, I...

When I write, I speak out meaning. I collect grammatic errors. I laugh at the geniuses of linguistics, because I do not know their rules or care about them. I collect symbols and alphabets and cultures. I can be whoever I want and make everyone do as I please. I can watch the sky speak to higher beings. I can write about writing and make it seem like an epiphany or a spiritual experience, when in reality it is just words talking about other words, speaking about nothing.

I can create journeys of unprecedented lengths and make every dinosaur re-appear in all of our forests. I write as if to say I have something to say and somebody needs to know it. I write because I'm better than most at writing, I write because it's natural. I write because I'm a pretentious hypocrite and I love it. I like to hear my own words being read by my mouth and even more my words being read by other peoples. I write because I am way into myself and perhaps not into most of the others.

Liking to write came with insomnia, and insomnia came with anxiety and anxiety came with thinking. Anxiety is a blessing, because it proves that I still think. I have anxiety, therefor I think. Descartes would had concluded that, if he lived in the I-Pod Era. If all of the geniuses from the past were born in the last decade, there would be no advances in anything, because they would had rather watched reality TV about rich and beautiful people with problems.

I want to see all those bastards chopped into pieces and being fed to Polar Bears or to Pandas or to Tigers. I wish everyone that drives a Hummer to be isolated on a melting iceberg until their death. I hate everyone, that is why I love the world. If we died, the universe would be a better place.

I write because I believe that things can be different. I write because I'm still innocent, apart from the mischief accompanied by my growing up. Writing will not save the world, but then again, nothing will save it. Unless, perhaps, everyone starts writing about it. I write because I know other people cannot. I write because I love it. I write because I still believe I could be a writer, even if books are not being read and the papers are falling into the crisis. I write because I think I have something to say, then again, I may have very little to communicate to the masses. I hate the masses, but I will write to save them if I had the chance.

I write because I like to drift into parallel universes. I write because I was never a good musician or ever will be.

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