Impossible loves can become an addiction. A sincere, severe prescription that lowers inhibition. I am hesitant to discuss my religion. I wish I could give in and watch television. It isn’t a sin, but where do I begin.
I don’t like things that come too easily to me (no one does). I think there is a reverence in working hard and obtaining a goal that is unattainable (especially to others). That is not why I write. Impossible is not what I’m looking for, but risking my life is a suitable synonym for my willingness to write, and my desire to accept death as a fatalism. I don’t think of myself above anyone, but there is, more or less, some untalented people when it comes to my profession who think they can do what I do with the wave of a pen. Again, I can’t do what they do in many ways. I don’t have the patience to be a musician, I am slowly but surely learning – how the hell do you play a Bm quick enough to not make it sound like a bray of donkey slaughtering? See that last sentence? That is what they do. The first syllables that come from the tip of my pencil’s prick thrown on a page like a Pollock painting. A word of advice, (which is another thing people dislike- unless it is in the form of quotes) work hard to write and carve a sentence like a sculptor would. Do NOT just ejaculate on a page and share it for your best friends to relish in for your own affirmation. It doesn’t matter if the content is universal, even if no one likes it, it could be the best piece of work ever written (often the case with unseen work- because it is a revelation for you, and that results in growth; others opinions of you only make you smaller). It is best to be silent to let others (and yourself) think. It can be universal, that is what is so sad.
I haven’t made an incision on my skin since I was the saddest baddest kid that ever lived.
Ben Bonkoske 