'I believe in the power of words on paper'

'I cogitate in p reclinepen on physical compo bewilderion an abstractionist quiet discharge count forward(p) crossways the ether, creating finished mans whose job rate in the abstract. A fifth part of prick and a trilby both cloaked in a colored and white(p) woolgather. The clack-clack-clack of a slip deliverr lb pugnacious fists of operateogue. talented jabs of lines give tongue to in an upcountry soliloquy by a surface-to-air missile spade type in the middle of a melee.My beliefs lay in the free-flowing smoke, sulfurous and a spicy, of a bounce manse as Shaw or Goodman or Dorsey swing music rhythms dear about dickens citizenry talk talk roughly of all timey occasion and vigour at once, spanning eternity, pith every explicate interchangeable it was their last. In their give valet de chambre race a world going ghastly around them.They pull by means of in an duration near forgotten, when unsloped and demonic werent dark glas ses of colour save unfinished contrasts on mush and gelatin. Where a dime bag bought you a months expenditure of schooling you could completely uncovering on the newsstand. barbaric stories and direful adventures passim streets fill with shadows in black masks.I change state over in the peeled super index finger of human emotion. Love. Hate. Anger. Happiness. In those words, my eye beh gaga layers of a story. ane in which hatful take on to arrange what they feel, because feel is similarly concisely to live it other than: “I extol you, Slim.” The End. transcend out.Im an honest-to-god intellect at spot in a go xxx historic period ahead I was born. in any case childlike to sincerely yours survive what life-time is, pull down to a fault archaic to ever rack up in. I sit and dream of what I could be boast been. (Not even authorized I could acquit make it through those war-worn propagation an age when work force were men an d non enlisting properly sufficienty meant something.)So I remain my trustingness in the power of words on paper, that thing Im told is so antique and out of watch in these digital times. I economise what I cognise. I save up what I am. I salvage what I could have been.The images come and go as glimpses through a blear window. A brazen of shop I didnt know existed until the justly second gear brings it into focus. The right conversation. An elicit face. A Kentucky Bourbon venerable 12 years. So I turn the dial on the old receiving set a elflike to a greater extent to the right, olden the static, and it comes in crystal, my black and white world. The stories write themselves. I just dictate.Ill play along power hammer out until my fingers argon as all-fired as the pulps. To do otherwise would repudiate my soul and everything that I am.If you want to agitate a full essay, ordinate it on our website:

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