Strange thing happen today on the way to the forum…I ran into August Moody! Way the heck down in Nicaragua! He said a few things that might be of note:
“I am a great writer. True. Since birth I have had chronic writers block. I have been searching for a cure. Some illnesses, hopefully such as this, you grow out of. I see a crack in the door. Time has created expansive pressure within and something must give. Do or die situation.
If my words don’t entertain as yet, be patient.
Medicine, such as I need, sleeps inside of me. It is truth. Such is the blood of poetry. Even fiction, if, at least, is not rooted in soil of imaginable truth, flops as if diving into an empty pool. One must believe in the possibility that what one is reading is (or could be) truth.
Truth can not exist without the Lie. Such an art to pass a lie for truth! Many are good at it. A good lie is better than some truths. Look around. Us humans exist with lies shoring up our very reason to live!
In, my great novellas to come, I will strive to not chop away at any house of cards anyone may be standing upon. My truth (and it is mine) will only hope to settle small earthquakes. Rest assured, truth is golden, illusion gives it worth.
Paradox rules and thus we all must glimpse it from time to time. Paradox is truth. In small doses we delight in it. Too much and we go mad. Like ants that grow fungus within to survive, we foster illusions to survive and thus we feel life is worth living.
I’ll stick to that, for now.
If life’s ladder truly leads to a higher place, then rung by rung, I will climb. But, believe me, I ain’t letting go of where I am until I know there IS a higher rung!
(always remember the grasshopper and the ant; but don’t believe any stories your hear, ants will eat grasshoppers any chance they get! And that one about a rabbit racing a tortoise? Tortoises may win the race but rabbits have more sex)”