Some call it a potato couch calling, some call it a spark of inspiration, some call it a bathroom idea during a standing hair wash. But no matter how much I tried to piece when it all began, I always end up with a thrilling mystery, which many times it's better to let it stay that way. What I do remember was it started off when this virus trying to infect every intelligent monkey on this planet and when we all had to be caged away in our homes.
The brain is a funny complex jello - we strive to be motivated in these trying times, we band together through virtual means to keep society alive and we adapt to whatever it takes to make the extra dollar. But the brain is rotting... My brain. I need a release, a place to destroy and a place to create; a heart to love and the stomach to hate; a sanctuary not only for the dark ones but also for the good of the light; a place so free that I could be very close to God, to the all-powerful Universe, or whatever it is called nowadays.
I'm not an advocate for freedom fighters like how I envy our Western friends, in fact I am a very law-abiding citizen which has equal fear of breaking the Law as much as the next Christian who has the fear of God. Breaking the Law screws you up good or bad or both. Fines and jail time are nothing compared to the possible mental repercussions of it. It could lead to a person being more acceptable to society after the lesson is learned, or nothing has changed since, or it could lead you down a path where 99% of readers would frown on the descriptive sentence about you that was bestowed by the news media.
But writing takes away that fear. Puts me in what Olympic athletes would say The Zone; a state of mind that is neither too relax nor too high on adrenaline, the middle path. I'm free to be whatever I want to be, even though the writing is given to me as an assignment. Because I could determine how the writing is cooked; regardless of the end result being A or Fail. I do it because of the love of the game. The only limitation is the measurement that I have given myself and the general consensus by other higher-level writers that has eaten my writing. Yet criticism starts with C which is a good Vitamin for healthy improvement... just select the ones that matter.
So be warned reader, this is my punching bag warm-up area before I hit the writing gym. A place where my raw thoughts are free to flow and rant till my teeth falls out. It would make no sense at all because I am so good at hiding my messages behind written subconscious words. "I should stop this," said the typical junkie post-high, because now it should make no sense at all.