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Rated: E · Other · Other · #1730339
Sometimes I can be a Wonderfool.
         I wonder sometimes, and I believe this is what helps me become a better writer, If whether or not people really want to read some of the words I've strung together. This thought comes from a place of inebriation, which is where I am currently residing so don't expect much. I walk a lot, I enjoy walking and in a town such as Dallas that's not an easy thing to do. There is land here, lots of land and everyday the capitalists that are in charge of this land places things we need or just want in remote parts of this land and therefore, like unto L.A. no one walks. Its just too far. But never the lest I live in downtown Dallas where we are recovering nicely from the country's economic woes and are even flourishing with new restaurants, clubs, bistros, and bars. And thanks to our predominately mild climate we have a more extended access to these luxuries then say our frigid Canadian cousins might. I think we can count ourselves lucky if we see more then half an inch of snow every winter, I love snow! So being said I walk. To the local restaurants, bistros and especially the bars. Our bars are fantastic too. But, I think it might be the people who do that. If you ever make it to Dallas go to Deep Ellum, you'll understand. Wow, what a sidetrack, I hope that I haven't completely lost you oh beloved reader. Anyways, as I walk I am very present in what goes on around me and small tales or mini-stories evolve in the detritus that lies everywhere in our common days. Most are nothing more then descriptions I try and hoard away for a broader piece of prose, but some come with their own delicate lacework of plot and glory. And I wonder if these are the things that you, the reader really want. The numb fingers pulling a quarter out of its concrete hiding spot at three a.m., the striations of a perfectly formed five pointed leaf face-down and muck-stuck to the brick street, that lingering taste of onion that the door-guy mixed into his fresh guacamole (yes, at 3a.m.), the wooden taste of the cold 'shiner' beer that makes you crave a week in the cold leafless wilderness, the menthol taste of chilling wind, the curiosity as to if you did or didn't do something inappropriate while you were massively drunk, the burning stab wound just below your heart as you wonder what the girl you gave everything to might be doing at that exact moment as you look at the thin sliver of moon and wonder if she is too because that's just what true lovers always do even if they can't be together because that's just the way the world works. Do you see? Do you understand? These are nothing more then words strung together, they are true words that are making you the reader follow in my footsteps, but is that really what you want? I hope so. Then it would mean that you have at least read this far. I do not mean to take advantage of you or even not entertain you. When it comes down to it, I need you. All writers need you. But are we giving you what you want, what you need. Don't you also see that perfect leaf, Don't you also know the deep pain of a love that won't heal? Please forgive my drunkenness, dear reader and I hope that I have not offended. I think my next writing shall be of a different caliber altogether and probably less laced by alcohol.

With love for my gentle readers,

© Copyright 2010 Robert 'BobCat' (rgaudiopro at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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