They will call it chaos, but
it's possibility, a world of
willingness without inhibitions,
of wishes without limits. They
will keep to their city of keys,
to the promises and pacts which
make it all seem tame, wildness
captured and constrained, bound
by rules, wielded with intention.
They will play at politics, cross
boundaries they don't comprehend,
imagine all the stories belong to
them. But I dreamed this world
for you.
Or I Give Myself Very Good Advice, But I Very Seldom Follow It. Echo lives in a basement apartment, walls softened with photos, posters and paintings--but only one of him, out of the way by the linen
Start with putting your ego on a longer leash; you can't let it go entirely--why write if not to tell yourself about yourself--but it mostly just gets in the way of getting anything done. Next, write.
The only mine I've ever known has been hard-fought, hard-won, all bloody knuckles and broken ribs, all set shoulders and subtle sneer-- won't take no for an answer, defiance the only way I know. It's