Just Another Mortal

After writing for 24 hours, it is difficult to walk on the earth. I feel transparent as I walk down the soiled city, thinking nothing can hurt me. But it’s not true. I forget that I’m just another mortal.

How can I write a blog entry after having written for over a day? My answer is, I can’t. So, I have to keep it short.

When I write, all my problems go away. In fact, all the world’s problems goes away. If you don’t think about it, it doesn’t exist. This much is true.

How can I explain what it’s like to spend all your hours fully concentrated on just one thing? Is it not like falling in love?

The rush I feel when it’s time to write is the same anticipation of ripping off all your clothes to jump in bed with your lover. The only difference is, writing is a continuum with no beginning or end, and this rush never becomes old or jaded.

I consider all the places we have to be, all the power struggles we go through, and the comparisons between our quality of life and others. There are a million and one components to being a human being. We are complex indeed, down to the ingredients we want in our toothpaste. I wonder how all this unhappiness can be rid of—the minuscule and large concerns that consume our brains—while the greatest assets within us are rarely brought to light….

Writing eliminates all this trouble. In the end, this is the sanctuary the reader gets when they pick up a real good book to read.

I suddenly understand why some people like to read (or pretend to), but not all. I confess, I am a writer that doesn’t like to read, a filmmaker that doesn’t watch films, and a poet that doesn’t read other people’s poetry. I love truth…and that’s the reason I write. I want to be inside truth.

From writing a lot, I am forced to read and to love it. But as strange as it sounds, I love reading my own work more than anyone else’s, the way parents love their own babies. Yes, some babies are ugly, but they are beautiful to the person that created them.

I don’t love anyone else’s babies. Why should I? They will never love me in return.

We shall,

Ji Strangeway is a filmmaker, writer, and poet specializing in female-centric LGBTQ. She is also a fierce blogger aiming for a new level of indigoness and bad assery. Find out more: www.jistrangeway.com | Follow FB: jistrangeway.official  #jistrangeway

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Ji Strangeway

Ji Strangeway

Executant of the Ineffable

The Three Gates of Speech stipulates that you ask these questions before putting your foot in your mouth: Is it True? Is it Necessary? Is it Kind? Since this doesn't fit the purpose for every occassion, the criteria for my path is: Is it True? Is it Necessary? Is it Indigo?

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