a word in which the experiences of the worlds have been reduced to.
a form of expression. and a platform on which ideas of great minds flourish.
it may be an end. it may be a means. even Machiavelli's The Prince may be a highly contested piece as regards to its object.
and it may do more. it certainly can.
it may impress. it may digress.
marvels it may create?
all the sensory experiences engaged?
how if at all is it possible to write, and have the magical effect?
writing is a process in which the inner self either consciously or not, expresses its thoughts. and these thoughts are the key to writing. my own dichotomy of writing (referring to the methodology rather than the end-product) is of two classes: the original and the contrived. and this is where the edge in writing is hidden.
'impress' is the word Man has in his mind when he attempts to write. and thus he adopts the second class . he finds his own musings. but he cannot force Lady Muse to appear. or rather she has other psyches to inspire. he then makes his own Lady Muse, pretends as if she is there, giving him all the inspirations. and then he thinks he is already seeing them all. concerns, issues. concerns which are contemporary. issues of great worry to the few hundred men at his time.and he makes decrees. decrees which may make him look knowledgeable, which will assume him the position of authority. AUTHORITY.not just authority.
all that contrived process just to figure out that his piece is just another one in passing, a piece too deeply embedded and hidden in the one of the million feathers of the wings of time. one which may die even before he dies. one that is forgotten. one of too contemporary and coetaneous a concern its breath is too short to catch.
but why such unfortunate eventuality?
because Man learns something with a pair of critical eyes too focused on manufacturing counters and questions.
and Man tries to innovate too much he forgets how it is to create.
the gates* of originality have closed. nay, he chose to close them.
all that he cares for is the produce of his brain at a secondary stage, as a result from his engagement with ideas already available.
he might want to be reminded that he is too enthused in lying to himself for gains of some immediate sort he fails to see that he was made with talents well beyond the normal.
that he can, in his originality, inspire and live through ages.
and he might wish some words of wisdom.
try writing with a new brain. untainted of presently ready concerns.
give it a fresh chance.
and for the love of God, can you please leave the gates* open mate?
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