No original thought surges through me. I am the spawn of any great writer whose words I’ve read on the pages of books I’ve befriended. I am the product of any great playwright whose realized dreams I’ve had the privilege to envision. I am humbly a blank canvas envying the art painted by the palletes and horse hair… Read More
No original thought surges through me. I am the spawn of any great writer whose words I’ve read on the pages of books I’ve befriended. I am the product of any great playwright whose realized dreams I’ve had the privilege to envision. I am humbly a blank canvas envying the art painted by the palletes and horse hairs of the great painters. I am the child of the dogmas of the great philosophers and sages. I am merely a marrionette being played by God’s unfathomable humour. I defy the monsoon winds never minding if I fall and falter. Quill darts, I arm myself in battling Surrealisms sick twisted reality. My vernaculars are raw and unrefined like my sick sad soul. Fellow nomads and scribes silhoutte me in my infinite traverse as I unlock lifes mysteries with shoelaces untied. Im in perpetual jubilant angst, that’s why my mouth spews incessant profanities and cosmic perversions. I have a mind that is just as deep and dark as the trenches in the oceans. The blackest pits in my mind still a void, an unchartered terrain awaiting exploration. I’m complex, a lot of times even I confuse myself. So who am I? Read Less
