I’m undercover when I work at the gym at night after my day job. You see no one knows that I am a writer…well, a few people do but they don’t know that I go home at night and sharpen my mind in to a point. That I spend hours obsessing over one word in one paragraph and that all words are not just words but tiny individuals in worlds constructed entirely of paraffin wax, shoe strings, colored tissue paper and milk cartons. With the single strike of a match these worlds burn burn burn but it is not the end of a civilization for you hold them in that gray place that made Einstein so famous. Thank-you and good-bye…
5 comments:
you put my thoughts into such better words than i do.
That was beautiful. You must feel all warm and tingly inside when you have sculpted and honed and fretted until you are satisfied. Do you go back to read it later?
lovely.
hours obsessing?
umm,
me, too.
yeah, that's the ticket
Either the inspiration is there or it isn't.
There's no point in obsessing over words. I think.
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