If written words...

[hmmnmm]

are expressions, yet we seek to fool ourselves into thinking we can hide behind our words and call them 'fiction' but no matter how deep we might try to unconsciously sublimate, what we express through fiction are often no more than scrambled portraits... then, holy shit. First reaction upon these revelations is to take off all stories and poetry. Not because they are well-written or crappily-written. But just because it's a very exposed feeling, when you thought you were comfortable behind the veil. But then? Since there's no way to hide. Why bother? The earth is shaking.

 

[3113]

are expressions, yet we seek to fool ourselves into thinking we can hide behind our words and call them 'fiction' but no matter how deep we might try to unconsciously sublimate, what we express through fiction are often no more than scrambled portraits... then, holy shit. First reaction upon these revelations is to take off all stories and poetry. Not because they are well-written or crappily-written. But just because it's a very exposed feeling, when you thought you were comfortable behind the veil. But then? Since there's no way to hide. Why bother? The earth is shaking.

You're ignoring the reader. As the internet shows, people can say things they actually mean and be totally misunderstood by readers to the point of being seen as completely other than what they really are in life.

Therefore, whether or not you seek to fool yourself hiding behind fiction, you will still be hiding because no one reading your words will see the real you...because readers only see themselves in what they read, not the writer.

Earth liquifying yet?

 

[hmmnmm]

You're ignoring the reader. As the internet shows, people can say things they actually mean and be totally misunderstood by readers to the point of being seen as completely other than what they really are in life.

Therefore, whether or not you seek to fool yourself hiding behind fiction, you will still be hiding because no one reading your words will see the real you...because readers only see themselves in what they read, not the writer.

Earth liquifying yet?

The crust is noticeably softer - a little squishy between the toes.

So you're saying there's no need to panic - necessarily. Or, it's okay if I take my pants off again. It was pretty comfortable - you know? in the breezeway.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

How true! You made me think of CHRISTINE. I believe deep inside everyone is a 1957 Plymouth.

 

[Salvor-Hardon]

I want to be known by my words. I want someone to see themselves in what I write and say "what else is in him that is like me?". I want people to look at my works and either love me or fear me or lust after me or call me pervert. My writings are me, I just hope more people see the man behind the words.

 

[lesbiaphrodite]

I have a love-hate relationship with words. I love to write them, love to read them, love to hear them (sometimes, especially when spoken in French), but I seldom speak and I enjoy being silent. I think silence speaks too though. Anyway, that's another matter. In general, I don't think I hide behind my written words. I'm pretty frank. But who am I to say? I'll leave that to my critics.

 

[hmmnmm]

How true! You made me think of CHRISTINE. I believe deep inside everyone is a 1957 Plymouth.

Hey. Built to last. Wash and shine and ready to rock. And run over obnoxious teenagers.

sorry

 

[Stella_Omega]

The crust is noticeably softer - a little squishy between the toes.

So you're saying there's no need to panic - necessarily. Or, it's okay if I take my pants off again. It was pretty comfortable - you know? in the breezeway.

Come on in, the water's fine!

 

[hmmnmm]

Come on in, the water's fine!

Well if you're in it

This thought came from something the poets have going on. Got me thinking, and thinking. Yeah I know. Bad. But I couldn't stop. You know? Then I was wowing. And... it was a downright near-panic attack.

 

[bronzeage]

are expressions, yet we seek to fool ourselves into thinking we can hide behind our words and call them 'fiction' but no matter how deep we might try to unconsciously sublimate, what we express through fiction are often no more than scrambled portraits... then, holy shit. First reaction upon these revelations is to take off all stories and poetry. Not because they are well-written or crappily-written. But just because it's a very exposed feeling, when you thought you were comfortable behind the veil. But then? Since there's no way to hide. Why bother? The earth is shaking.

I don't have much of a veil left, if I ever had one to begin with. It doesn't bother me if someone reads my work and thinks it is about me. That is their world and I won't try to convince them of anything different.

I wish I could be the characters I write about. They seem to have much more interesting lives.

 

[oggbashan]

If everything I write is a reflection of the real me...















The water's very muddy.

Og

 

[hmmnmm]

If everything I write is a reflection of the real me...















The water's very muddy.

Og

Mineral mud bath!

 

[Katyusha]

How true! You made me think of CHRISTINE. I believe deep inside everyone is a 1957 Plymouth.

*snerk*

 

[hmmnmm]

Well, I wouldn't go and tell Christine that I think she's 'just a 1957 Plymouth' because there's Plymouths then there's possessed Plymouths. And, maybe she felt like she was really an Olds. And who drove her? Whose bottoms sweated all over her upholstery? Christine had her miles, another Plymouth had other miles. Went different places. One ends up possessed and the others just turn to rust and get parked parted and junked.

One Plymouth lived in the humid south, another up north where it rusted early. Another Plymouth went on summer outings to the beach, got sand on the floors. Another went to the Methodist meetings and picnics on Sundays and Wednesdays and spent the rest of the week in the garage. In one back seat a teenager fingered his first pussy. In another someone went to the drive-in and got cracker jack crumbs behind the seats. So even if we are all 1957 Plymouths we all carry memories of different experiences, and sometimes it's pretty obvious where the Plymouth's been if you roll the windows down.