There are people (special breed known as writers) who have reached a stage of randomness that presents itself in a form of a genius. These people make random appear orderly, in their hands nonsense follows logical paths and unrelated words form solid thoughts. Their sight is not clouded by the misconceptions and prejudices of our culture and society, they create their own community. No matter how fantastical, silly or stretched outside the borders of reality their worlds are, they feel real. And we are lucky they keep the doors open for us. I am their happy visitor and I seek permanent residency.
I dream for my weirdness to be elevated to randomness. I dream of mastering the art of the quill. I dream to see words as a flow and not crushing waves. I dream. I try. I fail. I try again. And I share – not brilliancy or wisdom – only humble efforts of the servant of the Language. I love playing with words. They sometimes like to play with me. Sometimes I am the cool kid in the playground. The next day the loser.
I think I ought to play more.
B in the A to Z challenge