how did man learn to talk with such stagnant thought and stale tongue?

i need to get back to words. books have been good but now i must do the writing.

when i didn't eat, i use fill my time with writing and now i'm so busy with the business of "trying" to eat that i don't write. which is ridiculous.

i guess, no matter what, i use to find the depression inspired whirls and turns of ideas. now it's fading into a drug induced clouding.

they say we have twenty one grams of soul and also a book within us all. i like the myths and legends, our folklore and fables. i want to write something that goes down in history but who am i to decide what is worth making history?

just now i'm storyless, i'm still holding out for an epiphany of inspiration and clinging to the stars. i think sometimes i forget that you have to go searching for the unwritten tales so that you can know them, so that you can give them voice like never before.

x xx