So I’m not a writer. Point taken.
April 7, 2010Earcandy: Going Going Gone | Stars [ever feel like a song is talking directly to you? I’m turning 19, but how can that be? ]
Mood: unshakeable malaise
You want to be a writer? If it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it. Unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don’t do it. If you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your typewriter searching for words, don’t do it. If you’re doing it for money or fame, don’t do it. If you’re doing it because you want women in your bed, don’t do it. If you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don’t do it. If it’s hard work just thinking about it, don’t do it. If you have to wait for it to roar out of you, wait patiently. If it never does roar out of you, do something else. If you first have to read it to your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your parents or to anybody at all, you’re not ready. Don’t be like so many writers, don’t be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers, don’t be dull, boring and pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-love. The libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. Don’t add to that. Don’t do it. Unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness, suicide or murder, don’t do it. Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it. When it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. There’s no other way. And there never was.
- Charles Bukowski
Very… inspiring? T_T
My prognosis is grim.
Me: Unless nothing, absolutely nothing comes out of your soul even when you’re high on drugs to evoke the muse, DON’T DO IT.
Ah, fuck it. Let’s go party instead.
She’s finally here…
February 28, 2010… yet she has brought me nothing from her long absence. My Muse used to dance around me in unsuppressed jubilation, but now she just sits there and stares expectantly at me.
