by Cleo Hoskins
Just some random thoughts going through my mind about my ability to write.
|I want to write something significant, I want to write something that arouses the senses and enthralls the emotions of those who cross its path. I want to write something so entertaining it breaches the border of the sublime, something that when reflected upon brings me esteem and closure, brings me confidence, brings me fulfillment, brings me perspective, brings me hope for the future and solidarity with the present. I don’t know where to begin. Do my abilities match my desires? How do I find out? Is the capacity of my ambition equaled by that of my acceptance of normalcy and insignificance? Do these questions matter? Am I just a confused and bored boy who stayed up too late and has nothing better to do? Am I in a state of enlightenment, or in the misery of confinement of the ignorant mind? How long can I expect this mindset to last? Perhaps until I fall asleep and subsequently wakeup. I’m very tired now, I wish someone had the time to read this.|