Confessions 1 – a dialogue
Am
I a writer?
So
they asked me if I kept painting, I have no time, neither physical
nor mental space, Don't you miss it, well yeah but this was the
course of life and although I think of it, it's not as if I have
waived it, it's still with me, keeps pouring every day, disguised,
wearing the logic of certainties and haziness of language; They
looked at me in oddness and I knew it was going to get worst.
Are
you a writer now, Indeed... sort of, I sum up instructions on a
Turing's machine, lines of code streaming out of my mind, spaghetti
like, get evaluated and try passing the test. When they do, you can
call me a writer!
©
2014, JC
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