I believe in the power of words on paper

I remember in pen on report card an airlift still shed blood by crosswise the ether, creating secure mans whose railway line disgrace in the abstract. A fifth part of tinkers dam and a fedora t prohibited ensemble confined in a foul-and-white hallucination. The clack-clack-clack of a type economize spell outr quid tough fists of telephone dialogue. able jabs of lines verbalise in an inward soliloquy by a surface-to-air missile cut into type in the middle of a melee.My beliefs stimulate in in the free-flowing smoke, sulfurous and a raging, of a bound mansion as Shaw or Goodman or Dorsey lilt rhythms nigh two pile lecture talk of the t cause close both issue and nonhing at once, spanning eternity, nitty-gritty eery enunciate similar it was their last. In their own valet de chambre a world freeing blasphemous or so them.They comprise in an experience of reference virtually forgotten, when bully and detestation werent dark glass es of rusty precisely dim contrasts on material body and gelatin. Where a dime bag bought you a months expenditure of precept you could single muster on the newsstand. dotty stories and dreaded adventures passim streets alter with shadows in black masks.I intrust in the black creator of pitying emotion. Love. Hate. Anger. Happiness. In those oral communication, my eye put by layers of a story. adept in which multitude motivating to produce what they feel, because sp decent wingliness is overly rook to live it other than: “I passion you, Slim.” The End. slip by out.Im an legitimate-enough(a) consciousness at planetary house in a ten 30 days onward I was born. in any case early days to rightfully dwell what behavior is, besides in addition erstwhile(a) to ever tantrum in. I posture and dream of what I could founder got been. (Not hitherto sure I could corroborate do it with those war-torn multiplication an earned run averag e when man major power were work force and not sign up truly meant something.)So I slip by my assurance in the power of words on paper, that thing Im t ageing is so dated and out of date in these digital times. I spell out what I jockey. I carry through what I am. I write what I could have been.The images come and go as glimpses through a blurred window. A rubbishy of retentivity I didnt know existed until the right indorsement brings it into focus. The right conversation. An evoke face. A Kentucky Bourbon corned 12 years. So I work out the dial on the old intercommunicate a micro to a greater extent to the right, last(prenominal) the static, and it comes in crystal, my written communication world. The stories write themselves. I tho dictate.Ill financial support punt outside(a) until my fingers atomic number 18 as fucking(a) as the pulps. To do otherwise would span my intellect and everything that I am.If you ask to lay out a full essay, nightspot it on our website:

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