Confession

Confession

Writing dot com is a site for lovers of writing. I cannot possibly be addicted to such a site, as I possess no such adoration for the task. In fact, I have grown to detest writing.

My dislike of writing intensifies with each successive second as the introspective invasion destroys my desire by minutely masking any sense of pleasure, until the day I no longer feel compelled to pick up a pen. Perhaps, this intrusion, this attempt to delineate my very though process has not utterly erased my attraction to the individual aspects of the process. I find myself inclined to seek out the motion; I delight in the movement of the different writing utensils as they contact the paper, forming relationships with the writing surface. I relish the opportunity to alter the strains by inducing variations in surface or pen. I revel in the melody created by these marriages and I savor the crescendos and diminuendos as passion seizes the flow of ink or lead. Enthralled by the appearance of the scrawls, the loops and curves, the sharp lines and the blank margins, I conspire with myself to create my own unique inscriptions. The chaos of the letters that cross lines, penetrating the boundaries of the lined paper, as they intrude from the past on what follows hold me enraptured. I cherish the contact of cursive writing, the natural way the letters seem to connect, touching each other, culminating in the formation of something greater-a word, a thought, a statement, or an idea. I lack the ideas, the inspiration to capture emotion and fulfillment eludes me. I have only the letters. I feel doomed to combining these letters into a senseless myriad of meaninglessness, thus forming an intrusion on the chaos of meaning. I feel certain that these are empty words-my empty words. For this simple reason, I cannot possibly be addicted to WDC.