Inside is not a heart, but a kaleidoscope.


This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals–sounds that say listen to this, it is important. Gary Provost (via atomos)

(via )

A fake lyricist.

If I could write lyrics. I would write the most gut wrenching tales where not a single eye was left dry. Of pain that shifts through your being, runs I’ve cold through your veins; creeps itself into your heart and draws all the love and hope and joy out. Leaves it bare and empty as if nothing existed there in the first place. And as it rushes through your veins once again, you feel a sort of release that you can no longer sense, no longer experience the pain. You’ve become numb to the sound of your sadness, and it’s perfectly okay. And then, you swear you will never go back into whatever caused this pain because frankly, once you’ve been to war who wants to go back? Just to be shot at again and broken and torn to bits. As if you were even whole to begin with. Don’t be so foolish as to believe that. If only I could write lyrics.

The Heartbreak Diet

I think only a true artist will understand me when I say you crave pain. It sounds absurd but it’s so true, pain springs up such great work that I require it nowadays. That horrible sick to your stomach pain has brought me complete comfort these past few days. Where you can just sit and close your eyes and the emptiness creeps from your gut, into your heart.. takes it’s residence there. You continue sitting there and let it it consume your being. From that point, you can do work. You can create what you are meant to create. Although you are numb and empty on every level, you feel alive. It’s a contradiction that only certain people can understand. The pain has been coming in waves. One minute, I am perfectly fine. No better, no worse. Than, it’s a rush of piercing pain. And as crazy as it sounds, I want it to stay. I don’t want it to go away. I want to sink into it and make myself at home. And the nights, the nights are the best. The nights remind me of you, and those memories burn so good. It hurts so damn good.