I place the brain in its’ skull…

When I finally find my rhythm and I am the one eager to push forward.  When I can’t help but mould and mash a character of no charm, or carefully fine tune a delicate life, an angry spirit, that tortured soul….nothing can stop me.  Time is of zero meaning or consequence.  Food and water are not necessities, they are interruptions – as is anything else that must drag me from my Frankensteinian  stupor. My frenzied, impassioned creation can sometimes make me feel overwhelmingly powerful or incredibly tiny as I realise how childlike my perception might be…or is it drama queen stuff?  Not naivete…surely….not another avenue to explore…surely.  Let me write it out of me in some shape or form so I can recognise it in some shape or form, not just a passing thought….a forgotten idea, feeling…story.  Place the electrodes and blast it into the light, out to the night, encompassed in fright…write, write, write

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