To fill the paper

    Why do i write? The power... the sheer immense power that flows onto the paper out of that little bottle of ink. Dear God, it's amazing what I can do with it; what it can do for me. Everyday i see the same awkward routines bounding up and down the steps of life. Everyday i fill out my paperwork send it in and pray im accepted just like any other Joe. But today is different. This is my time.



    When one has the power to write anything in the world, the possibilities are endless. The magnitude of majesty that stems from one's own creative fibers only fuels the fire and when one is given the opportunity, that imagination spreads out like wildfire. The crisp pages absorb each godsent stroke and in return they provide a picture that only other gods can see. Only those who've experienced the power without succumbing to it know the truth.



    Writing is a gift and as much as any other true virtue in life, this should come as no exception. With gifts come responsibility or in a more literal sense, someone you should give them to. Someone should share the burden, someone else should be given the key to your secret treasures but is that to say we want to auction it off to a museum? Do we want everyone to read our work; to do with it what they will? whether it be besmirch it or condemn it as abstract or wrong? It doesn't fit their way of thinking and if they choose to add a different picture to the background will the context stay the same? It is for these reasons that i must ask, why do men (and women) venture off into the unkown in search of the dangers that lurk there beneath humanity's surface? We know that to take the sword from the stone is the same as to steal the magic from a childhood dream. Yet we dare to tamper with these unnatural powers; yet we dare to be human.



    To play God is a sin, but to not play God is giving up one's humanity. Humans create... we walked upright that's what makes us different. We judge and therefore are judged... we make and therefore others have the choice to lend a hand or stare vacantly at our dreams and our hopes giving not so much as a sigh of recognition. Forget those kinds of people!



      Narcisissm, acceptance, belonging, power, achievement, these are the reasons we write and though they are only selfish acts. they are acts of Gods. The Gods who have the power to change the world with a simple brushstroke. The artists of word processors and neatly pressed pages. Our canvas is bare and boring to the unsuspecting eye, but beneath it all lies a true masterpiece waiting to be revealed. Our artistry is so quick, sometimes even we don't know what happens. Mountains will kneel and tides will turn. Revolutions will strike and knowledge will pour forth from the voices of our collected parchments bound tightly together; these libraries of knowledge, known to the common man as books.



    But i'm avoiding the question, why do I write? the answer is so simple its almost unnerving and in short a little disappointing after the epic stories mentioned beforehand. Others may see themselves as Gods but i am more humble. I don't write to be seen, i don't write to be heard and i'd rather keep my treasures to myself. I write because its the one thing in my life that i can control. These papers are the one thing in my life that i can use to express my anger at horrid situations or comfort myself in times of troubling woes. When i am sad i can write, when i am happy i can write. I know i'm creating art that may or may not be seen and adored by dozens of people when i pass but honestly, i don't really care. If i did, writing wouldn't be fun anymore. If i was paid for it, the deadlines would kill me and stress would sap the enjoyment i get from spinning a good yarn. So the plain answer is i write to express myself i write to free my mind from this world, and i write to stay happy in this ever darkening generation.