Photo taken by my sister Kate Briz
For I am a peddler of words lost in space and time filling in gaps of insignificance to outright the inconceivable.
When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen. But if you have not a pen, I suppose you must scratch any way you can. ~Samuel Lover, Handy Andy, 1842
Monday, August 12, 2013
224/365
It is only when I'm writing that I find myself in perfect solace
of being totally insane and at the same time, in control of the universe.
***
Inspiration.
For I am wordless
as I am sleep-deprived during the night.
Write I say, strive I must
to feed this eternal literary hunger.
This will never be over
nor will it ever be enough.
***
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
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