wannabeliterate

I'm so fucking alone. Sure, I've become quite solitary over the last few years so the times when my I ran out of space in my address book are definitely over. I can't say that I miss that, from today's point of view. Nowadays I couldn't live like I used to do, anyway.   But I miss having friends. I miss being at ease talking to strangers. I miss feeling so awfully sure of myself for no reason; just like that. I miss being a little ball of fire - red hot, exuberant, gregarious and just...fun to be around and all that. I only abound with inhibitions these days. But it's not the dour expression on my face that I hate - what I really do resent i

Do you think that a piece of poetry can be revised to death? Over the past week I made a dozen changes to 'The Giant Squid' for example, substituting words and reorganising verses in order to clarify and aid the flow; now I also rewrote part of a stanza. There is much more I could change still, but while I believe it reads somewhat more elaborate now, I worry that poems might lose their original touch this way. 'The Giant Squid' may seem very 'constructed' to begin with, but actually it was written in one go. I then discarded the last five stanzas in the version that was initially published, because I felt they didn't match in terms of quali

I kept a blog once. It was more or less 'popular', actually. In my language section of Wordpress, it was one of the first blogs primarily concerned with fucking up your life and mental illness, keeping literary quality in mind. These types of blogs had been written by English writers (naturally, it being vastly superior to my first language) for a long time; I used to read these blogs, like 'pole to polar' by the ingenious Seaneen Molloy, and think that these writers were affecting my life so much more then they would ever know. Through them I realised that writing was a way to relate ones' journey through clinical insanity with dignity, fo