Hmm ok this is going to sound different but have to answer

The sound of the chest wall when it cracks in surgery and you know you have done it just right
it makes just a certain sound

lol told it it would sould weird and different

Okie...#101 beats my train whistle!

The sound of fill in the blank when it fill in the blank and you know you have done it just right it makes just a certain sound

The sound of the Pillsbury dough tube when it cracks against the counter and you know you have done it just right it makes just a certain sound

Wicked Maid you inspired me Remember those AdLib games.

Writing.

I write cause writing gives me a way to release the demons that I have in my head.
My pen becomes an extension of my mind and moves with gay abandon, with a mind of its own.
I do not know if the words I put on paper make sense to me, to others. All I know that they are there so that I can get rid of, exorcise, the ghosts that dwell in the deep recesses of my mind.

I also write cause it brings me joy.
I feel that my spirit is soaring above the earth and floating into oblivion, free from all the troubles and breaking all the shackles of this mortal world.
I am no longer bound by the physical rules of the world and all my fantasies are real, they come to life.

And sometimes, when I am sad, the ink replaces my tears and the words become my emotions.
The fingers move and the words flow out, without a stop, baring my innermost feelings to all, so public and yet so private.
The words ache with the pain that I store within my heart, crying out for a touch that would heal my battered and bruised soul.

And then, I write cause I love writing.
I write without inhibitions, the fears evaporate at the sight of the pen and my thoughts crystallize into words; words that have a life of their own, independent of my existence.

I write so that I may be reminded, in the future, of the thoughts that once crossed my mind.
That I may be reminded of the way I once felt.
That I may learn the consequences of those feelings and not repeat the ones that hurt me and others.
Then again, I know not if I can do that, for emotions can’t be bound by reason…

The letters dance in my dreams, the alphabet: vowel and consonants swaying to the rhythm of my never ending thoughts.
I wake up drenched in sweat, looking for a pad to scribble, lest I forget what I feel. But then, I go back to sleep again, to be woken up again by this naked exhibition of the dark secrets I hold within me.
I tremble, scream and shout to get away from the feeling which engulfs me and draws me like a moth to the flame. I know my destiny like that very moth, but having fallen in love with the despair, I am drawn towards it, seeking solace in words where the night can offer me none.

I write so that I can go to sleep; I write so that I wake up: cause writing exhausts me yet refreshes me at the same time.
It taxes my mind and relaxes my soul.
It’s an aphrodisiac for my thoughts, which lock with each other in conjugal bliss, multiplying by the hundreds and thousands with no end in sight.

Some people say that writing is an art.
I don’t.
Writing is a state of mind, a semiconscious stage where the border between fantasy and reality blurs: the distinction between truth and fiction does not exist.
Anybody can write, you just have to know when.

And you have to have the courage.
The courage to put pen to paper and let it move on its own, starting with nothing more than lines.
Soon the lines become curves, curves become alphabets, alphabets turn into words, words come together to form sentences, sentences morph into verses and paragraphs and paragraphs run into pages: the pages of life.

And once I’ve written something, I don’t read it, never again.
Cause writing for me is instant gratification: for that moment and that moment alone, discarded for all eternity.
It’s a chain of thoughts that has lost its reason to exist, cause it is out of my head. It is dead. It is defunct.

I write about my dreams, my nightmares; about the light and the dark; about love and hate: but most of all I write about sadness.
Cause sadness depends not on the situation, but is a way of life, a way that most people follow.
Look under the skin of most people and you will find sadness.

I write about sadness cause writing about it makes me forget about it, makes me happy.
Ironic.
It makes me comatose, I can hear all, see all, but am still unable to react to my surroundings.
Its like a never ending high, in the depths of hell.

I write cause I am.
I am cause I write.

@shu

Yes Essencay?

Enjoyed reading it...that's all

Thanks. I just let my fingers loose on the keyboard. This just came out. Guess the compliment should be passed on to them.. 'good work guys..'

hehe China! yup that one sure does...

write cause I am.

Friend,does your writing do any good to others except yourself?Does your writing represents just you or through you it expands to all human memories we carry inside without even realise it?
Does writing leave you released of your deamons or do they haunt you even more???
Does it really set you free or does it have such a power on your mind so that you have become a slave to it instead of being its master??
Anyway are you FREE really FREE,i really want to know...I wish and hope you are...Cause everything that becomes addiction,good or bad sometimes-most of the times- is not a liberation but a rope around our heart and soul...
I wish you real freedom........
love you

Friend,does your writing do any good to others except yourself?Does your writing represents just you or through you it expands to all human memories we carry inside without even realise it?

I don't know, I am a pretty selfish guy, but then, aren't all of us? Doesn't the same apply to the whole human race by Extension?

Does writing leave you released of your deamons or do they haunt you even more???

The demons stop haunting me for that particular moment cause they are purged out of my thoughts. But I know, sooner or later, they'd morph into newer beings and haunt me some more, forever evolving into more horrifying nightmares... So am I really exorcising them or is my writing feeding them? Thats for someone who looks at the consequences of one's actions to decide, not me...

Does it really set you free or does it have such a power on your mind so that you have become a slave to it instead of being its master??

I am the slave who thinks he is the master. They exist cause I do, and I exist cause they are.

Anyway are you FREE really FREE,i really want to know...I wish and hope you are...Cause everything that becomes addiction,good or bad sometimes-most of the times- is not a liberation but a rope around our heart and soul...

But this advice is for someone who craves the kind of liberty you talk about helenangel. I don't. I love being bound by the rope you talk about cause that gives me a reason to struggle. Its the fertile earth on which new thoughts sprout and old thoughts decompose becoming manure... the dead give life.

love you

love you too.
[Message Edited]

Then,you are a true happy man...enjoy your deamons my friend and go on writing and writing and writing....It's your toy fantasy....
Happy writing
love

well,what turns me on today? True men...men of high standards of living...honest and sensitive...yet so strong and amazing in everything they do...Yeah,those men are my cuo of tea...always...

This wonderful thread of endless tapestries.

This wonderful thread of endless tapestries

not sure i got the message...but you are welcome to add your tapestry too if you like..

well,let's see...what turns me on tonight?Jafo does...don't ask me...I won't tell....I' m also turned on by pyjamas parties as long as everyone wears pyjamas with Disney cartoons on them...
I can't help it ...Ciba, Shiba I don't know the spelling...anyway the lion is my fantasy...
There I said that...now Jafo sue me....

helen I told Jafo to come to your pajama party in your other thread okay... hehe
let's hope he attends!