The sweetest sweetness of all Life
Might just be
The sweetest sweetness of all Life
Might just be
This Morning loves me
I can tell
When fist He brings me coffee
Then goes tempting my eagerness with
forbidden gumdrop fruit
Designed and built all just for me
He, then, He let’s me be
It’s made for me
The world is
The way i am made for me
i am the World Herself
i adore You World
You adored me first
– i just noticed
When my eye holds only angles
They suck thought out between the lines
Being lost here somewhere is my moment
Where paint-flow washes out my mind
This moment touches you
Oh, we’re here, here, here
Joy and you hold hands just then
the atom splits again
Again, again, again
For God so loved the game that he played it.
That’s all I have to say about that. I only wish Clown Head were still here in the game and not logged out.
How, why, normal?
Who says what’s?
Mine’s as mine as my foot size.
Defined, solidified by National Geographic
Boxes and shelves of people who almost must exist, sort of, because there are pictures
They sorta exist
You know, to be in here, to strike me
Look at that!
So I can dig in the boxes for the most shocking naked, huge, wrinkly, big bright feathery, tiny, adorable or sinking bony.
Curious dark friendly eyes slanting behind skins and furs
Naked painted long breasted moms
All that stuff on their heads taller is than they are
why would anyone move like that?
And in public.
Measuring the world with my foot.
Is everyone, every single believer, having an intimate personal relationship with the same person Big Polygamy?
And why I adore dialogue with you on here.
Your insight is dramatically helpful in the monumental process that is a story teller turnings shame into vulnerability.
Your points give a clear much needed out for when us writers doubt what we are really doing.
We need this way out of our maze of fear and lies we believe feel and react to. Believing I’m exposing my friends makes me feel defensive and small like a weasel. I often suspect myself of something that makes me just like a
Writing a good story is big work.
It’s heavy lifting to process reality into an uplifting story that makes sense and creates meaning and change.
Figuring out how we got out of a tricky spot and how and why we succeeded who and what where the problems and what we learned worked or works is an art. Sharing it is brave.
Finding a way out of lives that won’t bring joy or flow properly no matter what you do or hide is priceless.
I think your points do something to help bring my personal imagination out of the bone yard. A place where I feel like I’m betraying and hurting rather than helping. Hurting isn’t my nature. So I feel paralyzed. So, I fight back.
tabloid producer and accuse myself mercilessly. So I figure the whole world is gonna see me like what I am, some Rita Skeeter, that horrid witch reporter for The Daily Prophet let’s her magical green feather pen stretch butcher and molest the truth about Harry Potter and his friends without a spark of conscience. She’s one of my least favorite fictional characters, ever. So, I’m ready and on the offensive and the defensive, when just like Rita Skeeter, I make this crap up about myself. Then, like the annoying Wizarding community I go and believe the whole thing.
So, then I’m defensive as heck.
I am not like Rita Skeeter!
While I am the only one in this “conversation”.
Only trouble: I wonder if all great writers must have this stupid “conversation” and find a way to end it every time and move forward.
You’re list did something lots of books on writing I’ve read didn’t do.
I’m not sure what it is, but I feel a little bit quenched. In a good way. : )
All the best writers write about what they know with a terrific purpose that’s got nothing to do with exposing their friends. For me, its It’s about helping myself. My friends are part of my life, and lots of what I learned is from my not-so -friendlies. What else is there to write about? How else than to tell my own experience of myself and how my friend’s and family’s crap has affected them and me and the rest of us?
But “Who do you think you are to judge you big meany!?” Still needs to be dealt with regularly. It’s gotta be dealt with. I have to do it. And I have to do it regularly, the way some other professionals have to build up their confidence regularly.
I believe the majority of great story tellers, have to do this. And your words are helping me now. And maybe, it’ll never get as bad as Rita without me knowing where the attack is coming from again.
I wonder if my inner critic identified with a sensationalist tabloid producer. I feel aversion to. I don’t know anything about tabloid writers, and don’t consider them great, or story tellers.
I guess I feel like they are infections. When we are not immune the rest of us wonder if we are also being paid to be contagious pernicious judgey gossips with no right to feel good about our calling.
Huh. I just realized something.
I guess I haven’t figured this out. I don’t know any sensationalist gossip writers at all. Not one person I know thinks I’m that way either.
I just realized. Me trying to avoid being that way is ludicrous. I spin in that cycle rather than just realizing I am not that way. Huh.
There’s really nothing to talk about.
Note: May get permission to use the points that sparked this. Gotta post my response there first and see if I am nuts after all.