mingling with the muse

everything i write is a continuation in a long line of run-on thought waiting to graduate into something useful—

predecessors of a one-man

army of words...

leaps and strides of a

stimulated muse...

i am an architect of worlds

a bringer of nightmares

a conjurer of mayhem

a humorist of soliloquy

a salesman of satire…

throughout these

self-proclaimed titles,

interpretation remains

subjective,

placing myself in an arena

of like-minded souls,

charming words out of

the vast nothing…

but there is a process

to this madness

the methods of which

interchange

not always cohesive…

he can stare at a given title for hours or days before the first line is ever written

sometimes the ending comes first and waits until he can marry it with the 'what comes before'

most of the time,

however, it’s a single

idea that wishes to

grow but cannot grow

without a dedicated grower

therefore,

i write and wait

write and wait

write.

and

wait.

in the midst

of all the writing

and waiting,

something miraculous

can occur

-Love-

once attachment grabs

hold,

commitment strikes down

the sins of doubt and

casts procrastination

into a forgotten void

negotiations come to a close

excitement checks in,

allowing words to align faster

than I can type

it doesn’t matter if he flubs a comma or the right verb, he can fix it later

this is a time when the world takes a hike, cursing the breaks in thought until he’s satisfied with the day

i will see it through to the end...

daydreams lead to bios…

observing nature inspires scenery…

frustration morphs into

dramatic tension,

twisting and turning

words to the point of

comprehensive narratives…

-something useful-

it all culminates into

a finished product,

hoping proudness doesn't jump the gun

he did it!

i will continue to write

regardless of success or

proficiency,

allowing the muse to roam

free,

undeterred,

overjoyed that someone (me) wants

to come out and play

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The Challenge: