Transcript of last nights monologue. The word that I wrote on my chest was CREATE. Should have used a black marker, oh well papel. Lol. #monologue #writersproblems #talumpati #hahaha #itwaskindofintense --- To the non-writing writer: I know. Believe me. I know. These quiet moments are not so great -- the ones where youre looking at a blank screen with a cursor thats blinking like its taunting you. Or the ones where youre looking at a piece of paper thats as white as your knuckles. And the pen in your hand feels weird. And your fingertips are starting to not feel like fingertips. I know. Believe me. I know. Its disconcerting because you know its there, its just ...STUCK. And its heavy and youre dragging a baggage of words everywhere you go... And you cant sleep, because youre waiting for the words to haunt you in the middle of the night. But the nights are silent, the days are quiet, & your page is blank. I know. Believe me. I know how it feels to keep trying to find inspiration wherever you can, to keep clawing at your heart trying to find every last bit of emotion that youve ever felt in your lifetime, and to realize that Kafka was right -- YOU ARE A MONSTER COURTING INSANITY, because when you drained your HEART of all the ink that it could spill, you recklessly went and found a boy who would break it. ...And he did. Now you go to the ocean and watch the waves break on the jagged rocks over and over and over again, like it never learns; you use that as a metaphor on how you fall in love. You write and rip. WRITE: How you loved him. *rip* WRITE: Your body is soft and sweet like cotton candy and it melted on his tongue. *rip* WRITE: Your heart is like paper with how he ripped it to pieces. *rip* WRITE: How love hurts like a motherffff... *rip rip rip* WRITE: How sorry you feel for feeling too much. WRITE: How maybe your heart is a mistake. WRITE. Youre wrong. Your heart is not a mistake. You were born to LIVE. FEEL. WRITE. Make mistakes. LIVE. FEEL. WRITE. Make a mess. LIVE. FEEL. WRITE. Find something valuable in the wreckage. Theres always something poetic about a wreckage. LIVE. LOVE. WRITE. And when you run out of paper. Just write on everything. LOVE. ON. EVERYTHING.
Posted on: Sat, 29 Mar 2014 12:58:54 +0000
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