Follow by Email

Search

Login Form

Other Cool Blogs:

23 June 2014
I always thought I was in control, but maybe it was an illusion.

I always thought that somewhere in my mind was that spark of creativity that fed my imagination and what it produced was based on the ideas I fed it.

When I put pen to paper, the words that came to my mind, I believed those words to be mine.  I believed that the story I crafted on the page was conducted by my thoughts and constructed from my life experiences.  Even when I wrote of the fantastical the words that formed on the page did so in such vivid detail and yet I still believed this to be of my own doing.

I was wrong.

The realisation that I am not in control, that some other being has influence on my artistry is a sobering thought and not one that is quieted by the bottom of a bottle.

In those far too rare moments of sanity when I read that which I write, when I realise it is not the writing of man of sanity, then in those moments I want to scream but I cannot and so instead I retreat back to the pen and the page, and back into the madness.

I write about cannibalistic monsters lurking in graveyards or emerging from the sea.  I write about infernal devices that suck the free-will from the minds of men.  I write of gods, old gods of unfathomable power toying with the lives of men.

I write of the Egyptian artisan,  I write his wizardry and technology and of his influence over those that see him perform.  

The words that I write are not my own but the blood they are written in springs forth from my veins like shower of crimson ink.  I carve words into the page with my pen that are written in no language spoken on earth.  The letters crawl across the page screaming at me to be read, to be understood and yet I am not the one that must read them.

I know this now.  I write so that others will learn of the madness and fall under his thrall like I have and yet I can not stop myself.  I must write, I must tell the stories that remain untold, however macabre or ghoulish they are, I have no control over my writing and yet my writing is all I have.

Even now I in this one moment of lucid thought I wonder will the words consume my mind and then my soul or have both already been lost?

1 comment:

  1. This may be healthy. You know, some said madness is the first step to ingenuity. ;)

    ReplyDelete