or can it be that their is a specila form of attraction between a part of our anatomy we prefer to label as ‘the hand’ and the device(‘the pen’) which we so mercilessly and incoscruosply use to conceive these images known as ‘letters’ on a piece of ‘tree’ ( forget about the fact that we torture a living organism by removing its ‘skin’ only as to get the privilege of smearing ink on to this piee of hide. and we go even further to label this ‘tree skin’ as ‘bark’. what kind of name is this, i mean does any living organism deserve to be given such treatment? how would we proud humans feel if our skin was removed and used to perform the human art known as ‘writing’?)

sorry for th sideways branches that evolved during my writing. however i must warn you that this is no mere joke, the sideways branches are their to further elaborate a certain topic under discussion. in fact i would go so far as to initiate a new topic from each of the sideways branches

Do we write because on the first page of the SAT book it is written that you need to write a lot? Do we write forcefully, do we produce proses that are composed of bricks we picked from here and there? Do we write with a thesaurus in hand, a dictionary in mind and hundreds of colloquial ( hard words that look as though were written by a professional writer) words?

do we dare to write differently because we wish so, because we have a burning flame inside us that tickles our fingers, that itches us until we lift our bony hands and start ‘drawing’ out letters on a canvas made of lined paper (or in some cases press these tiny buttons at an amazing rate on a device quite appropriately named as a ‘keyboard’. I have always wondered how this marvelous feat is accomplished but alas this search of mine is going to go on until I find an answer worthy of my attention, worthy of being called an answer)? Yes. Some of us do. Or rather I do.

I don’t write for the world. I write because I feel like writing. Because I cannot let my thoughts go to waste, or rather go down that long endless dustbin. Because I cannot stand and see ‘injustice’ done. Because this is a way through which one can express himself or herself for that matter much much better to that outside world which is always trying to prevent us from reaching, from achieving our goals, from ‘stereotypisising’ us.

Have we ever asked ourselves this question, that is if we ever try and question certain questions on whoch others in our so-called society do not dare question, that what we write when we write is it optional or are we forced by a seen object or presence such as an exam, an interview or a test such as the SAT?

If when we write, we write forcefully, then this is not writing. Writing is when words seem to flow out of our hands, our minds, our hearts and it looks as though we may never pause from our writing no matter how horrid, satirical, critical it is.

Writing is not holding that book called a ‘thesaurus’(the reason I am referring to it as a the book is becaqusae my relationship with it not so good and I have always watched it carefully from the corner of my evr roaming suspicious timid eyes) whose name is such as to suggest that the phrases present herein are very difficult such the common man , take me as a good example, cannot engulf or swallow what lies written therein. There are words for whom the phrase ‘colloquial’ is used. Another hard word used to describe hard words, isn’t it ironic?

And who decides what word or phrase is ‘hard’, ‘colloquial’, ‘important’ or what is termed as ‘literal’? what matters is the definition, the material, what the word means. Your name does not matter. Your achievemenst, your personality, charater are what matter. Even if my name were ‘dirt’ ,taken as an example of course, that wouldn’t at all point to the non-existant fact that I am dirt.

And so it is with these ‘words’ (at certain points in my so-called essays you will find that I prefer to name them ‘drawings’, ‘collection of tightly held characters’, ‘pieces of art’, ‘shapes formed on a piece of canvas known as paper’ so please do not get yourself worried for no basefull(opposite of baseless) reason at all as to why this maniac prefers to use these terms; it is just an art, a style that pleases this lunatic who then prefers to at times without prior notice to involve these phrarses to add an other-world touch to what is otherwise an in-world piece of writing) that no matter how they are used it is their meaning that matters.

And then again why are we obliged to write, to squeeze certain so-called majestic words into our otherwise simple sentences? Why do we have to involve terms that make our ‘pieces of writing’ seem as though they are ‘pieces of expensive jewellery’(jewellery is involved herein since it has no material value rather it’s value lies in its face and one cannot comprehend what is the meaning

Nail biting is the art by which man acts cannibaly. Man literally tears apart a portion of his own human body, of his complex anatomy and goes on to engulf and digest this portion of anatomy which is described as a ‘nail’ thus nail biting. This is done via a delicate process which requires one to spend many hours and then map out a region around which one can then start digging deep using his/her teeth and then after the foundations holding the nail have been weakened to go on and with one strong pull tear the nail apart from the flesh that holds it, and at times a portion of flesh remains with the nail.

This portion of flesh adds a distinct flavour to the piece of fingernail or for the very skilled nailbiters piece of toe nail. The nail then stays within ones mouth for a period of time in which it takes upon itself the liberty of exploring the various nooks and crannies that reside amongst the teeth, and stay also within these nooks.

After a certain period of time the debris that was stubbornly stuck on the nail is washed away thanks to the acid present in the mouth and the nail is as good as new and disinfected for that matter. It then shines like a well polished shoe (an army boot for that matter) and if re ejected from one’s mouth is virtually a new leaf.

Then depending on the nail biter, since each artiste has his own taste just as each and every epicure has his own distinct taste, he may either engulf this piece of nail which may sail down on that liquid scientifically known as ‘saliva’ or more commonly known as ‘spit’ and assist the being in whose bowel it resides as a good source of calcium and certain other countless minerals of which it is made.

May I also mention here that certain members of the human species have suggested and proved that chewing gum, apart from destroying and demolishing the very foundations of your teeth, also increases your brain activity (do not ask this simpleton what a brain is since he lacks one and is in the search for where he may find such an organ) and increases your intelligence, understanding and thinking. And the main reason for this is that your teeth keep moving up and down- the same effect that nails residing amongst the teeth have on the host- he keeps on moving his teeth up and down chasing after the nails in an effort to capture them and try and imprison them amongst the various spaces between the teeth.

Therefore nail biting also makes you cleverer as deduced from the effects of moving your jaws up and down.

Nail biting is a prestigious art in that it is for those very few, those talented individuals who can withstand nail biting and who can perform this art properly. This art requires dedication, concentration, skill, strength and mental stability. This is an art that sets apart one group of human beings from the other. It is what defines a human being, it is what shapes him, it is what calms him in his hour of tension, of stress. It is what displays his inner self and portrays such a vivid image that it settles in the mind of the viewer for centuries to come.

It is what causes one to appreciate art as art. To appreciate human nature. To appreciate that others have a right to do what they want. Nail biting is what sets aside us beings from mankind. It is what gives us our strength, our vitality ( I think I have gone a little too far, but as I said that once my heavily laden literary car starts it does not stop easily being that it is motoring on a steep slope whose steepness knows no bounds and whose end has no beginning( quite dramatic isn’t this?) and whose brakes have tires have seen many a road and whose breaks have tasted soil from all around this piece of land we prefer to call earth for a reason unknown to us and me) and it is what keeps our pitiful souls alive and kicking.

For those of you who have no clue whatsoever as to what I am, I think it best to begin by introducing myself in as few words as possible and as properly as these few words allow me to explain myself. for a complete yet comprehensive account of my story which, quite graciously, includes a biographical and topographical account you would have to read my biography which is coming soon ( biography is a creation of that species called ‘human beings’ or what the more intellectual human beings refer to as ‘homo sapiens’. Kindly do not ask me what this is since I belong to the homo paper species; and one difference we have with man is that we do not name ourselves. In fact we promote equality and all members of our species are known as ‘paper’. Suffice to say, we promote equality, we promote and conserve ‘paper rights’ but at times you may confuse us since that species I mentioned earlier on, the humans refer to my very own brothers and sisters by very different names. Indeed man has gone on to forcefully bind similar looking members of our species by using certain extremely painful methods that, I must say, leave scars that never fade. Oh, the pain, the tiredness, the wounds. But what can I say we are a very enduring species and so we have, or we have gained, the ability to endure this everlasting pain)

As I have mentioned I belong to the ‘Paper Clan’ or what the human species terms the ‘Homo Paper’. I was like all members of my generation born in a forest or rather an artificial collection of trees which man has bred for the sole purpose of breeding me and my fellows. This forest is unlike those excellent and majestic pieces of beauty and marvel in which my ancestors used to live in but is a concoction that man has bred for, as I said earlier, to breed our kind.

We, just like one other humble inhabitant of earth, the butterfly, pass from one stage to another. And in these stages we at first exist as a ‘bark’ if you speak in human lingua franca and we live in complete harmony with yet other humble inhabitants of this earth, the trees as a covering layer on their slender bodies. And we live with them in such a manner. It so happens that since we are a species which exist in harmony and piece, several of our kind join together and cover these trees.

After this, naturally, we fall off from the trees and separate which for most of us marks the end of our lifespan, the end of our existence on this soil and water filled planet. But for some of us, especially those who live on the certain specific trees which man admires and therefore prefers to employ these trees as sources of our kind in order to transform us into a more writable form, we have a very different form of existence-the caterpillar-cocoon-butterfly existence like and unlike the very butterfly I mentioned (butterfly is one other of those weird, unexplainable names that man prefers to employ when describing these elegant, winged creatures).

We are like a caterpillar in our youth. Then man places us forcefully into a cocoon like existence which then transforms us(I must say that since we are a peace loving species, we do not fight back aggressively rather we wish to hold intellectual discussions with man on this but we face certain problems. These include the fact that we do not understand the simple language that man uses since our own language is very different from that of man. We are such that we speak without speaking, we listen without listening and we are heard and understood by those very few who are from our clan) into the current form which, sadly speaking, is our most common form since man as I said depends on us a lot. But I think that I must be honest and admit that the state to which man, quite inexplicably, transforms us is the state in which we are most beautiful. We, I guess, gain an incomparable beauty and therefore man has done us a small favour here.

But this does not change a thing; the degree of suffering is immense. If you place a jeweled crown on ones head and torture him it makes no difference at all. It does not, not even to the smallest degree, make your act look more humane. You are still performing an act which quite bitterly violates the rights of all creatures, of all beings.

And what does man employ to torture us? Man utilizes certain tools, certain man made tools that he has perfected for the sole purpose of bruising us. There are countless tools but I believe one small example, that of the ‘pen’, will suffice.

In as small a career as mine I have undoubtedly discovered quite a few things, very very few things, of which one little thing that has some significance is in actuality a deduction that each and every, how shall I put it, theory or assumption or phenomena or object has and always shall have an exception to it.

Nothing is straightforward, even a straight line. And it all, I must stress this, depends on our viewpoint. Take as an example viewing a straight line drawn using a perfect ruler on a shiny, white piece of paper whose perfection at this stage has no rival; indeed this perfection is so majestic that one is astounded when one sets his eyes upon this piece of paper (I believe that this being who has been drafting the earlier piece until the brackets has gone a little too far from his discussed topic and I think I should point him in the right direction. Kindly excuse this being since he is obliged to wander randomly and aimlessly (the two words have different meaning as discussed in another so-called ‘essay’)).

And so, to get back to our topic of discussion, if one view’s this line from, lets say, a distance of 30 cm ( cm stands fro ‘centimetre’ a unit man cooked up to represent and define length, although I have no knowledge whatsoever as to why man took it upon himself to suggest that a certain portion is equal to 1 cm) it looks quite straight to him or her but what if he takes a closer look such that his eyes are no longer separated by a 30 cm wall of air and water vapour; but what separates him now is an air wall of 5 cm, he or she now discovers that the line he thought to be straight in the first place is not straight. On the contrary it is crooked and has these little deviations from its path that add a certain un-uniformity and ugliness to that perfect line. It is these marks that disgrace the line’s title ‘straight’ and debadge it of its prestigious title and paste on him the title of crooked and by so doing abolish it from the clan of the straights, the clan that has for long a time held the distinguishment of providing perfection and beauty to various aspects of mankind’s life and have shaped man’s world as it is today. It is without this clan that some of the other inhabitants of the planet earth have not prospered.

And so it is the fate of this ‘straight line’ that not only is it now only a plain ‘line’ like many of the others but it also has that scar, that mark that provides it with the recognition of being straight. And so this ‘straight line’ wanders far away from its birth place never to be seen again, mocked by all who see it, and all who place their eyes on it look at it with disdain, with loathing.

This ‘straight line’ is hurt, is torn up inside………

(The story of the straight line is still in the kiln, and it may be some time since is it baked from a piece of mud and earth into a full grown brick, therefore you have no choice left at all than to subscribe to this blog however painful it may sound or to keep on visiting this desolate place ever so often)

This humble persona has at times felt a weird feeling when he reads his own writing after an elapsed period of time. That is when this being reads his piece of art later on he is astounded at the matter that is written down within the canvas of that piece of art. And that makes this being very very perplexed as to how on earth he managed to write such a piece, not that it is a great work of literature on the contrary this being does not consider his writing a trifle great but rather a mere smear on a piece of paper that is at most legible but not digestible due to the apparent lack of digestive juices inside man’s bowels, and so this being remains astonished.

And that is how I think I should lightly discuss the spontaneous nature of writing as far as my own personal experience culminated with that of the being who wrote the previous paragraph. I have, as a matter of serious fact, noted that when I read previous pieces of writing that I believe were written by these very hands which have for once decided to use a piece of human technology known as the ‘keyboard’ in preference to the more traditional method of using an instrument known as the pen or at times a more ‘caveman’ type tool known as the pencil, I have albeit discovered that I am surprised and that I cannot believe that I wrote these very words. And so it shall pass that when I read these very words that I have written I shall not believe that it was I who wrote them.

Therefore I think that good writing, apart from mine of course, has that spontaneous nature which makes it as though it were a great invention that arises in one’s mind once and only once. It is like an idea which if one does not capture and imprison inside a page with the help of a pen tends to escape and flee and mostly never ever come back.

How sad this is, I can well imagine. As I am an inventor I have started making it practice to record all my ideas so that I can jump back to them later on and so as to control the flood of ideas that rushes into my small puny yet pitiful brain.

And also what I must say in this state is that writing is surprising. It is like discovering something new, something that you never had a tiny notion of its existence yet you find yourself discovering it. It is the thrill of finding yourself come up with words which are shaped as sentences and which if read from a specific view point tend to convey a certain clear cut message( apart from my writing which conveys very many messages but sadly very few might be able to digest what this maniac has to say). Writing is when you cannot force yourself to write but find yourself writing and unable to stop. And it so much as comes to the point that you have to hold back your weak arms and cut that link that connects them with the pen or in some cases with a keyboard. Writing is when you test your imagination, you test your style and you let the words arrange themselves no matter how haphazardly on a piece of canvas.

It is undoubtedly like a waterfall which keeps on flowing at times and at times dries out. Yet at times it is possible for one to summon the waterfall.

A waterfall of words and phrases, of commas and full stops, of hyphens and exclamation marks. But not of hard, indigestible words, phrases that make you writing look like an exhibitionary item- there to be viewed but not understood. Writing merges simplicity with style, understanding