They say that writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia. They say that there’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein. And they say that all writers are lunatics.
Then why do I write? I'm not that true Alchemist that doesn't change lead into gold but rather changes the world into words.
But there's a swarming growth of voices on my doorstep. That long overdue solitude is here, and it's finally creaking open the door for these voices and they're sliding in. They are getting louder, getting bigger and stronger: into cold dark amorphous forms, into screams and shrieks in my head.
And all they want is to see me bleed into words...
Then why do I write? I'm not that true Alchemist that doesn't change lead into gold but rather changes the world into words.
But there's a swarming growth of voices on my doorstep. That long overdue solitude is here, and it's finally creaking open the door for these voices and they're sliding in. They are getting louder, getting bigger and stronger: into cold dark amorphous forms, into screams and shrieks in my head.
And all they want is to see me bleed into words...
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