Tuesday, May 23, 2017

The Writer



Within the context of a well constructed secret group lies a body of collective minds. They work alone, with a whirring of secret thoughts and stories. They enlist the provocative nature of the soul to conjure the words that bring forth the story. Insights are written, the incessant desires of beautiful minds eloquently bringing forth the world of words.


Movies. Books. Newspapers. Music
The secret group that brings it to life.

If you will for just a moment, understand that the writer will, it seems, forever see life on a different level. Each person they meet tells a story, each soul with an unwritten story that is brought to life with the skill of the writer's mind. The one who can tell that story as it should be and bring even the most boring life into it's full beauty, just for you.


I can make you believe anything. I can make you amused. I can make you frustrated. I can agitate you or leave you speechless. I can bring tears. I can bring laughter. I can create for you a drama. I can bring a simple, everyday object to life. I can entice you to do anything I want. I am the writer. You will be swept into my story, whether you watch it on TV, at the cinema, or read it somewhere. You become privy to my secret group, if only for awhile. 
You may hunger for more and I may give it to you.


This is the beauty of the writer. This is the gorgeous magic the writer holds. You will never capture the writer's entire soul, for it has never been one to be held. You will never understand, always agree, or comprehend what the writer tells you. You may view the writer as you will, but you will never understand the true nature of their thoughts or where they abound from.



The writer is an expose of many things. They inherit a quality from the ether that haunts their souls forever. They will begin the story and rewrite it many times. The writer does not seek your approval, they seek the justification of the mass hysteria that abounds during the time of writing. Should the writer avoid this task, they remain in ruins.
Until they write.



The one percent of us, this is for you.
xoxo

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