The ‘ol ink stroke on dead tree parts.
At least someone is making use of deforestation.
Better that they don’t go barren, blank and completely wasted.
My generation is full of writers that seem to have lost that physical touch.
They would rather utilize the digital format because “it saves time” and eases the dreaded editing process.
Our styles aren’t quite the same.
Hand-written material allows me to feel the words.
Through the wrist, they force themselves onto the paper.
My hand becomes overridden by the words and thoughts in my brain.
It leaves them concrete and unchangeable.
Honest, and raw.
Sure, anything meant for publication purposes will go through an editing process before public consumption is available.
Still, it’s here.
The bare bones truth.
The bold, real first draft.
Cross it out.
Rip it up.
Mark all over the fucker.
It’s still here.
It can’t be deleted.
I prefer things that way, all around.
Society tends to sugar coat too much these days.
Call it politically correct-if you must-but what I’m gonna call it is internalized.
Someone’s gotta not give a neutral fuck.