I'm going to the end of this paragraph trying to reach an outstanding point; I dance on a piece of sheet while I'm controlled by a merciless, skinny and hairy hand. There is not music around here; I only hear some whisperings while my head just turns and turns because of a desperate willingness of writing and, most important, of creating.
I come from the same place everyone of my kind uses to come... a dark and, most of the times, warm store. Now, the problem is that I'm used to forgetting things so I cannot give so many details about all the places I've been at. I only remember a public university full of tired eyes and dark circles, a small and moist bedroom where so many and, sometimes, huge contradictions take place, a frightening and empty paper that suddenly becomes to be stained with my low-quality ink and, finally, a long yellowish and bright path of a popular church in the downtown I quit visiting long time ago.
This kind of spontaneous writing makes me remember an activity called "automatic writing” where you have to write what you're thinking without taking into account grammar, coherence and cohesion (I’m not saying you have not taken them into account ok?)… For me, this activity is a good way of relaxing my mind and relieving my feelings.
ReplyDeleteI really like how your pencil became a character and the situation of the class became a story, it is very creative from you. You took advantage of the moment for writing. Maybe you can add more details about the biography of your pencil; it could be interesting and funny.