Monthly Archives: March 2011

my love/hate relationship with writing:

what he said:

“[T]here is no way writers can be tamed and rendered civilized. Or even cured. In a household with more than one person, of which one is a writer, the only solution known to science is to provide the patient with an isolation room, where he can endure the acute stages in private, and where food can be poked in to him with a stick. Because, if you disturb the patient at such times, he may break into tears or become violent…

No one enjoys writing… There is no way to stop. Writers go on writing long after it becomes financially unnecessary… because it hurts less to write than it does not to write.”

- Robert A. Heinlein
Dr. Richard Ames, The Cat Who Walks Through Walls

* * * * * * *
at the moment, it’s torture (that’s a little inside joke with myself). but i have this annoying drive to see it through to completion. o, how much easier it would be to hit delete and never think of this current script again! alas, i’ve dilly-dallied long enough and it’s time to catch the tiger by the tail. somehow, looking at this superdoggy pic gives me a sense of peace and calm. see ya in hell, bitchez.

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because now is the time to self actualize.

and because this is how music amplifies and underscores.
integration = more than what it was before
this will always be siiiiiiiiick . . .

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Sinead O´Connor – “Women of Ireland”

There’s a woman in Ireland who’d give me a gem and my fill to drink,
There’s a woman in Ireland to whom my singing is sweeter than the music of strings
There’s a woman in Ireland who would much prefer me leaping
Than laid in the clay and my belly under the sod

There’s a woman in Ireland who’d envy me if I got naught but a kiss
From a woman at a fair, isn’t it strange, and the love I have for them
There’s a woman I’d prefer to a battalion, and a hundred of them whom I will never get
And an ugly, swarthy man with no English has a beautiful girl

There’s a woman who would say that if I walked with her I’d get the gold
And there’s the woman of the shirt whose mien is better than herds of cows
With a woman who would deafen baile an mhaoir and the plain of tyrone
And I see no cure for my disease but to give up the drink


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why not.

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