As the Months Meander Past
My dedicated ritual of being a writer has dissipated.
Where the journey of this event, "writing online and expressing oneself"
whether in 3rd or first person, often ends up becoming an info-mercial, instead.
The purity of writing itself, abandoned to the commercial scene.
"Find me", "Find me":
Creative writers what happens to us?
Our outlet, simply a blog lost into googles* revelry of statistics towards money procurement,
thusly we're never to be found, far too obscure and remote.
The Old Hats?
Who finds the writers? Perhaps a collegiate group might sift,
looking for something else in life, and there it is!
"The lustful wit found, by being a writer."
Adornments
Working for money, "the enslavement machine", how is it possible to be as free as, the writer who writes with a passion to retell and recant escapades, fortunes lost or gained, travels that went or were only planned
and simply discussing the non-excitable in-between, the routine, a epileptic existence of a day sent into repeat.
What a bore, that time ensuite with our worker world has disallowed the plenty,
and plenty is left sparsely clad, no longer able to show its extravagant ability, to delve into the richness found within our words themselves.
Topic Topic Topic
Stick to the norm, the discussion at hand, the politics, the wars, the strifes, the humanity dishonorments, the radio talk show, "YOU", you stick to those topics and never stray. We want the NORM. Cancel your abstracts, your free worded philosophy! Stay upon OUR Topics, news, religion, we only want similar in tone, add-in a link and maybe we'll buy a new iphone through you.
Fair Hearts I Cannot!
Is this a lie? Surely I've tried the commercial mechanism, yet I've been left with only half a laugh
that only knows grumbling more.
Entertained?
Fast-Worlders, I hope I've entertained you today with this brevity of pomp, that I've allowed myself to share.
*(among others)
