Words of Mine

Words of Mine.1

I am not your typical writer. An accurate statement true enough, although it does seem quite understated to me.
To me to write is alien. In a lyrical tale telling sense anyhow...I am a worker, raised as such by my hard father like his hard father before him. Work is what matters in this world and dictation of that work is dependent on circumstance and my denomination was the hard work of men. It's just something you do... seems pre-ordained doesn't it, to fall in line?
So quite strange indeed to me that I have picked up this pen and dared to put pondering to paper, though writing in my somewhat coded scroll in private so as not to be discovered, A somewhat secret pleasure I have unearthed, not to be shared with those known to me. What would they say? The words I find dancing around my mind are not spoken aloud in my circles, or should I say the marriage of words where the possibilities are endless, mistakes are tolerated and judgment is not bestowed. What nonsense is that you're spouting? They might opine...and the mere thought of explanation dreads me to my bones.
No. This is for me and now for you it so seems, but I am not known to you nor you to me. So you're consumption I will allow.
And so to the how comes and the why of it all? I was in that shop. I saw that book. I bought that book and I read that book. How did it read you ask? Like a dance so it was, waltzing from one sweet note to the next. Hopping. Skipping. Jumping along. I have found myself prior only interested in the jumping of it all. The big crescendo as it were. Not on this occasion, so sir. Today I will enjoy the Hopping and Skipping just as heartily. Hopping to a Gasp. Skipping to a tear. Jumping to a laugh. The read of my dreams if there is such a thing.
How is it that this person is able to evoke this myriad of emotion from me like non before? The subtle undertones, The crushing climaxes but most of all the WORDS. The marriage of beautiful words. The like of which I had never heard nor read nor heard read and now for the contradiction... Curiously I noticed that the plot was thin as silk the story not unlike countless prior, but how this maestro has got me, this genius, this Wizard of Word. I find myself thinking don't let this end. If it does it will be infinitely too soon.
It ends.
So inspired by my new found Sensei of word I let my mind wander. Still in that safe haven atop my shoulders I wander. I encourage my mind to do what it may with words fed through the semi sub conscious of myself. I fall into trance. The possibilities are endless. Glorious.
At this time allow me to bring attention to my location. I am in the shimmering Persian gulf. A peely wally white boy amongst Arabs. The aforementioned work is Oil. Light years away from the melodic and paradisiacal world I have constructed in my mind. I have accomplished my task of the day. Some terrible deed that has helped punch a hole in the earth and draw to surface the Black Gold from below. The gold that brings Light and Fire and Greed and Power and Wealth and War and Destruction. Brings everything it does, so I try not to judge it too harshly. As they say "It's a dirty job but someone's got to do it" and I don't spare a second thought to deep conscience when I've pups of my own to feed.
I stand aboard an iron monster conjured up in the minds of money men and built up strong and fit for its task. I gaze upon the Sea and fall into the beauty of her Sunset who compliments her lover by lashing her with color so plenty that she exhausts her most infinite pallet. It is in this state of admiration that I am compelled to drift into unknown and faraway lands of thought without form. I am desperately praying that I don't forget these fleeting Gems passing through my adventurous mind...But I do...I forget it all and the feeling comes to me that they were not meant for anyone but me. A tragic ending for those melodic thoughts to be lost in the wind like a moth in a hurricane, though at the same time beautiful and inspiring. I Know I thought those things that I thought...Didn't I? I must endeavor to catch this gold dust and put it to parchment...and so I will write.
Chris.