Notes upon an Imaginary Book

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

These are thoughts of an imaginary book.

I am writing from the river of life. Life has not been a bouquet of roses for me. Why write? I have no answer. Writing is the pleasure of life. Writing mortgages debts of the past. I am writing a streams of consciousness narrative. Writing is a brook of beauty. Writing is Saints floating in the sky. Writing is the heaven of peace. Writing is a mystic muse. Writing shakes the foundations of the existence of the ego. Writing is a tremulous orgasm. Writing wanders in journey of a tale. Writing is the passion of the fruit. Writing is sheer ecstasy. To write is to be ashamed of oneself. Writing is the ornament of prose. Writing is a caricature of beauty. Writing is a bird on wings. Writing is nostalgia of the past. Writing is the future of hope. Writing enlivens the burdens and sorrows of the past. Writing is a canopy of emotion. Writing is the length and breath of passion. Writing is a portrait on a surreal landscape. Writing is love exemplified. Writing is the future of hope. Writing entangles the past and relives it with luck of the present and grace of the future. Writing is a muse doing a skillful ballet. Writing is the signature of luck. Writing borrows time and space into the author’s pen. Writing is musical poetry. Writing is the love of words in copulation. Writing is a creative cunnilingus. Writing outpours from the fissures of a volcano. Writing is the solitude of peace. Writing is the heart of poetry. Writing is the frozen ice of passion. Writing is a pendulum swinging with expectations. Writing is a journey in the desert of hope. Writing is a magnitude of beauty. Writing is the painting and music of words. Writing is the spring of passion. Writing is the love of adornment. Writing speaks of the pleasures of the soul. Writing reveals the sentiment of the self. Writing gratifies the ego. Writing subverts the super-ego. Writing is the dream of memory. Writing is the resurrection of death. Writing is the clash of symbols. Writing is the painting of images. To write, is to be a lover of the self. Writing allows the soul to shine in reflective pulchritude. Writing is the love of the self. Writing is a machine of letters. Wandering through the journey of writing, I become a muse and a mystic.  Writing is the infinity of space in a musical adornment. Writing is the religion of love. Writing is the passion of music. Writing symbolizes the self. Writing is an enigma to understand. Writing is a magic brew. Writing is the eclectic of fusion of language. One has the decipher the writing that exists in the library of Babel. Writing is the love of the self. Writing glorifies the ego. Writing deifies the ID. Writing is the ecstasy of the self in mytho-poetic language. Writing is a beautiful hymn. Writing symbolizes language of madness. Writing is the Derrida of difference to defer and to differ. Writing is sweet honey of an orifice. Writing is the lust of passion. Writing breaks the strongholds of the signifying self. Writing is passion for the accomplishment of dreams. Writing is a rainbow warrior. Writing is the occult of reason. Writing is the emotion of passion. Writing is a magical orifice in the myth of creation. Writing is the violence of the pen. Writing is beauty redefined. Writing murmurs like a flowing brook. Writing serenades in the beauty of a tempest. Writing can overcome all woes of the past. Writing is a lucky talisman. Writing is the echo of the heart. Writing is the eclipse of reason. Writing sows, the seeds of enlightenment. Writing is a muse floating in a surreal space.

Submitted: June 18, 2021

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LE. Berry

Again anand, you express much of what I feel as a writer

Fri, June 18th, 2021 7:29pm

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