(Untitled)

[_defenestrated]

The roars seep beneath me, but I cannot grasp them; I can merely grasp my beating heart, my pumping veins, my chilly soul, grasp them for a moment, thinking, hesitating, hating and despising myself, then quickly let go, forcing my fingers to open with painful intensity like a taut rope. At this moment, I forcefully close my eyes and they fall

Comments

oh daniel-the-creative-writer, where art thou?

[liferunsby]

DAN. on a random, nostalgic impulse i just logged into live journal -- first time in 2-3 years? and i noticed what a creative writer you were!

what has happened to this creative side, daniel? i bemoan your (and the world's) loss.

KEEP WRITING. i wonder if you will get this comment. hahahaha.

Re: oh daniel-the-creative-writer, where art thou?

[_defenestrated]

haha thanks man...i think i lost this creativity. i used to see images in my head, but it's all gone now after reading about postmodernism. though maybe i'll give it a shot again.

Re: oh daniel-the-creative-writer, where art thou?

[liferunsby]

this is why we need to say, "Fuck you, Postmodernism."