“Writers are desperate people. And when they stop being desperate, they stop being writers. ” – Charles Bukowski
One time, i was browsing through the works of Bukowski when I came across this phrase. It was as if heaven sent and i saw myself on the other side of the road. Far from where i am now, which is in the middle but better than where i was before, back when i had no idea how to pick up the broken pieces of i-don’t-even-know-what.
And I remembered Blue Jane, Pink Bane. Since I was little, I only write when the words are clouding my mind and the only possible option is to use the keyboard and my fingers as an outlet for all the anger, hate, bitterness and negativity that’s threatening to take over my heart. My heart that i’ve always wanted to keep pure, happy and simple even when life keeps molding the contours to make it fit the standardized angry and bitter can of this worldly world.
I guess everyone has a point of desperation when all the days seem like nights and all the sunrise seems like a never-ending twilight. Stuck in between light and dark, never quite figuring out what to do, where to go and who to turn to.
From my more than one weekly posts months ago, i’ve only been able to sit on my bed and pull my laptop a few times. I guess that’s because I find so many things to do like: read books, watch my favorite tv series, twitter, instagram and all the other things like that. It’s not that i stopped writing because i found better things to do. But it’s like i stopped feeling the need to put my thoughts to words. Til that quote of course. It’s also not like i stopped writing entirely but more like i just dont finish and polish my drafts anymore. And yep, til that quote of course.
And i guess this piece is entirely personal and i know it’s not that interesting to know this much about me, but.. whatever. hahaha. Maybe this even seems a little unfinished but i’ll be back.