Dear Diary of Fantastic Discoveries

Safety Suit — Perfect color

“Every great discovery starts with a lyric or two about life.”

A writer is forever fighting the battle between a balance of knowing that no one can write like the greats, and most writing is just making similar stories in new ways. It's like being a snake who lost the ability to shed its skin and become new again. Truly, we writers are in a tragic position. A position of having our pen poised to write but a voice inside our head ( I call it logic) whispers that we are nothing more than particles in the world.

“It was the perfect conversation, I think that I red about one time And I told a white lie when I told you, I’ve never been green with envy you” — Safetysuit

We must understand that one day our writing will end up on a dusty with mold covering the pages. It’s impossible to argue that it won’t end up that way but unless a book is burned there is no real possibility that it won’t end up that way.

While walking down the broken path of a road with no sidewalks ( cause some street makers want our life to be risky) I uncovered a secret. The discovery I made is the reason I write. I can’t imagine myself without having an overwhelming desire to gorge out words on white paper, and hope someone will read them. William Shakespeare had to share the same desire with his playwrights.

Writing is a desire. A habit like a guitarist has to constantly play the strings upon an instrument with a wish for a beautiful sound to occur from the musicians hands. But the musician has little understanding of why his hands are moving as if a ghost has taken over his body.

A feeling such as that is an unquenchable thirst to me. The desire to survive under an azure ocean like a fish as it fills its lungs with more water swimming through murky water to explore expanse within its world.

If it wasn’t for this desire to write I think I would be a completely opposite person than who I am. Would I be a delinquent sitting in jail? Would I be dead from an overdose like all the other people who found a negative escape in life. Except they took a permanent route.

“To the misfits and the freaks To the outcasts and the geeks To the weird kids that don’t care Cause you feel like you’re not there”-Safetysuit

I hear everywhere how bipolar the idea of writing is. Writing is hard. Writing is easy. People who are not writers claim the process of writing is easy as anybody that is a writer slaves away at the work day after day. The act of putting pen to paper is not like math. We don’t have a formula that solves problems, or a puzzle that can be solved by using algebra. Our minds must touch upon our creative side each and every-time we prepare to weave a story.

There are writers out there that touch upon the infamous zone. I know I am guilty of it when my fingers type and my mind is in a place of its own. We infer the zone to be like a place where athletes go when they play an intense game, and gravitate into focus. This same zone can occur in creative people when they start to focus on their craft and all other surroundings disappear to them. My zone happens when I write. I don’t realize what’s spewed onto a page till my mind unfocuses from the page.

My hands pulse as they record words from the abyss of my mind. Its funny that my background is like that of a stripper aside from the fact that I don’t make money from stripping. Let me get into the nitty gritty now about how writing and reading are a safer escape than drugs or sex for me. ( Not that sex isn’t fun but believe me I enjoy like the rest of the world but I don’t obsess over it. I only give my body to people I love.)

-Insert sudden sob story-

My father is a person who claimed to be a hard worker, but never took time to do a single chore. Chores belonged to women so he would say. ( Sexism at its best.) Daddy made money. Not middle class money either. He was a high-class carpenter for Foxwoods casino back when I was a child. The problem with him was that he was like Darth Vader except on crack.

He was abusive, insulting, and even forgetful at times. His idea of spoiling me as a child meant giving me everything I desire even if its a rated R anime. If you notice me using the word was as in past tense it is because I have rid my father of my life due to his treatment of my mother. It's OK to delete toxic people out of your life, and don’t be afraid to do it.

My mother is the epitome of someone who understands love, and sacrifice. She taught me most of what I know about the world today. Her disability is a strange one where she had a stroke when she was born and the effects didn’t occur till she was seventeen. This makes her disabled having to take care of two children. ( But now the two kids are adults- haha-) But I’ll be honest that if it wasn’t for her support I wouldn’t be writing today for sure.

I discovered writing after a tragic event my life. It was an event that acted like kindling to fire up a writing fire. The reality I faced as a child made me create my very own escape. I couldn’t stand the way people looked at me with my fish like eyes. ( Two lazy eyes made for a lot of ammunition to be teased with as a child.)

Writing became a calling for me like a whisper in the wind, or my downfall like Lord Voldemort’s mistake with Harry Potter. I can’t put a finger exactly why I was drawn to words but I can say it’s a desire to leave reality.

Maybe we are all souls trapped for eternity to play out the roles we were born with like robotic machines. Or maybe we are souls given a new chance to fend for our lives.

Dear Diary of Fantastic Discoveries I promise to bring you readers a new outlook on love, writing, entertainment, and ideas. Please as always comment, track back, and spread the love.