Write. Don't think. Treat it like a war. Dive in. Battle with the world and empty your emotions. On to the blank space in front of you. Spontaneous and passionate. Let it flow through the pen. Whatever you believe. In ink. On paper. Forever etched into the grain of the page. From a spark in the mind. The stem, the root, the beginning. Birth. Beautiful baby. Don't make a plan. The execution of a plan is never the success you would hope for.
Write for you soul. For cathartic waves. For the exorcism of it all. To repair past pain. To justify yourself to nobody. This existence. That summons so many questions. To mind. Free yourself of all the reasons and write. Just write. For a song, for a poem, for a world, for nothing at all. All is just a dream.
I want to be a guerrilla writer. Write in the eye of a storm, survive. Then disappear. Fight and demonstrate what I believe in. Some things, worth fighting for. Worth spilling blood for, for the eventual value. The meaning. How symbolic. The struggle, the tragedy, the result, the history of events. The turmoil. To write. With a pen in a hand and a connection with the paper. Sparks. The greatest battle. To make some sense out of everything and nothing. To love and show compassion at every single moment. The impossible. Time and again. A guerrilla heart. Never stops, never undoes itself, never truly sleeps.
The nucleus and the vanishing trick.
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