Okay, maybe it is more dangerous trying to be an abstract writer than an abstract artist. Not that that isn’t ridiculously dangerous an endeavour also, just that there has to be some high-end comparison with this for me to go forward stronger. That said, I don’t think my style of story to be all that abstract, whereas I am fully aware that many others do; however, I am becoming increasingly aware that a lot of what I say when I talk to people face-to-face, let alone on the page, really does quite a bit get a little misunderstood in its lacking context nature. I guess I tell the story or whatever it is I am bleating on about as though the other person is thinking the exact same thing as me in terms of a ‘visual’, so that’s odd – and perhaps that is where the writing side of things gets a little, shall we say, serenely saturated, and that my style of personality can also be an acquired thing, too. Which is way more than fine. Enough of my nearest and dearest get it, even if I don’t get why some people tend to find it… strangely intriguing!!? I just didn’t ever really realise that I was THIS different. Overexcitement- put plain and simple, that’s what it is; which is a thing I seem to have a hard time doing in the first place. But yeah.. the words are the most important thing in the world for me right now and it’s my absolute way of communicating exactly how I feel via story and rhythm or whatever it could be called. And seeing as that pace appears to be relatively untouched and unedited, then I’m a ferociously fast thinker, I suppose. That’s not supposed to be a self-assured thing whatsoever by the way. And even when I think I am doing zilch- nothing! However, I do have my absolute qualified reasons, much more than many, for it being this particular way. But I have to hang my belief on the fact that my style of choice with time and nurture, is one that is far, far more effective and tonally both rhythmically succinct and bombastic, once read out-loud and away from said page. In my over-invested opinion at least. Sometimes after a few pints I am REALLY ready to write something. As in.. like.. my mind will just spend the rest of the night partly settling itself down and partly settling on a loose idea for my next poem piece. I do wonder where the stories comes from sometimes, but then I stop ‘cos I’m bored.

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