Here's some of the book I'm writing
The All Day Dreamer
Chapter 1 - Jule (Part 1)
Revenge is an oceans muse, drowning tomorrows fools. At least that's what he told me. He would hate to admit it, but the way he composed those words lacked any or all conviction. It seemed he didn't believe himself as he was lost between the poetic description. Many poets, writers, whatever name you want to confine them to, aspire to be profound and deep by including parts we can't understand. Life is hard to grasp and understand itself, so maybe there is no meaning. Maybe a man has only two things, his words and skin, both masking the ugly truth. Blood, flesh, organs, sounds, letters, sentences, it's all clothing, so put on many layers, gloves and a toque, it's mighty cold out there.
He had a signature way of speaking. His mouth was wide and animated with a deep soothing tone massaging your sense. First his lips moved swiftly then slowed down toward end of sentence showing he lost interest even in himself. He wouldn't look at you until his lips slowed. Glaring eyes desperately seeking belief and approval. His pupils were black holes swallowing your attention, grabbing and consuming anything to keep him company. After his gesturing eyes, he would nod his head as a bow to his audience. A fraud, an actor without the blockbuster smile, waiting for that big break.
His use of language was unique. Words lassoed to catch your mind in a moment of clarity. Ears could view, touch, even smell the landscape he laid with words. I always thought with effort he could write a beautiful book, but he didn't have the patience. A short attention span would be an understatement. He jumped from topic to topic like a crazy game of hop scotch. With each subject he could describe the most fading mundane and turn it into something vibrant and full of color. He could turn a bouquet of fake flowers into a blossoming garden, shed light on dark ally ways and clean them rid of syringes, urine, vermin and litter. He could find a needle in a haystack and use it to stitch a hole in the universe, turn the devil into a women of power and compassion giving birth to all our children. All of it was a front, i could see through the lies into his true self. A cynical man with an unsung power that was felt in the presence of conversation. His ego casted the darkest shadow blinding the minds of most men. The ego is mans downfall and he was sure to loose footing sooner or later.
(Part 2) of Chapter one coming later...
You like?
The All Day Dreamer
Chapter 1 - Jule (Part 1)
Revenge is an oceans muse, drowning tomorrows fools. At least that's what he told me. He would hate to admit it, but the way he composed those words lacked any or all conviction. It seemed he didn't believe himself as he was lost between the poetic description. Many poets, writers, whatever name you want to confine them to, aspire to be profound and deep by including parts we can't understand. Life is hard to grasp and understand itself, so maybe there is no meaning. Maybe a man has only two things, his words and skin, both masking the ugly truth. Blood, flesh, organs, sounds, letters, sentences, it's all clothing, so put on many layers, gloves and a toque, it's mighty cold out there.
He had a signature way of speaking. His mouth was wide and animated with a deep soothing tone massaging your sense. First his lips moved swiftly then slowed down toward end of sentence showing he lost interest even in himself. He wouldn't look at you until his lips slowed. Glaring eyes desperately seeking belief and approval. His pupils were black holes swallowing your attention, grabbing and consuming anything to keep him company. After his gesturing eyes, he would nod his head as a bow to his audience. A fraud, an actor without the blockbuster smile, waiting for that big break.
His use of language was unique. Words lassoed to catch your mind in a moment of clarity. Ears could view, touch, even smell the landscape he laid with words. I always thought with effort he could write a beautiful book, but he didn't have the patience. A short attention span would be an understatement. He jumped from topic to topic like a crazy game of hop scotch. With each subject he could describe the most fading mundane and turn it into something vibrant and full of color. He could turn a bouquet of fake flowers into a blossoming garden, shed light on dark ally ways and clean them rid of syringes, urine, vermin and litter. He could find a needle in a haystack and use it to stitch a hole in the universe, turn the devil into a women of power and compassion giving birth to all our children. All of it was a front, i could see through the lies into his true self. A cynical man with an unsung power that was felt in the presence of conversation. His ego casted the darkest shadow blinding the minds of most men. The ego is mans downfall and he was sure to loose footing sooner or later.
(Part 2) of Chapter one coming later...
You like?