blazeofglory
04-16-2008, 09:53 PM
Am I the way I write?
This I can not say at all that writings speaks much of the person one is, for writing can not express much of what goes on within us.
Man in fact is a queer creature with a varied layered mind. He deceives himself pretty often.
I do not speak everything I think. I am at liberty to think the way I choose. But I can not speak the way I think. My conscious mind censures all that I want to speak.
Our writings do not represent us fully.
We may have many pretexts or pretensions.
We think funnily and see funny dreams. Our civilization disapproves and denunciates things we think.
We are conditioned to speak the way the society we live in expect from us.
The real self gets liquidated in the process.
We are embargoed to respond to external stimuli the way we choose primordially.
We are caged and there are iron bars around our mental chambers.
There are too many walls and we are too weak to break free.
Do not expect I am honest or any writer for that matter honest to what he or she writes and most of them are pretensions flow out of vain glories and nothing else.
I am not the way I write.
My writing is the fabrics of my imagination and I am the stuff concrete in the make.
This I can not say at all that writings speaks much of the person one is, for writing can not express much of what goes on within us.
Man in fact is a queer creature with a varied layered mind. He deceives himself pretty often.
I do not speak everything I think. I am at liberty to think the way I choose. But I can not speak the way I think. My conscious mind censures all that I want to speak.
Our writings do not represent us fully.
We may have many pretexts or pretensions.
We think funnily and see funny dreams. Our civilization disapproves and denunciates things we think.
We are conditioned to speak the way the society we live in expect from us.
The real self gets liquidated in the process.
We are embargoed to respond to external stimuli the way we choose primordially.
We are caged and there are iron bars around our mental chambers.
There are too many walls and we are too weak to break free.
Do not expect I am honest or any writer for that matter honest to what he or she writes and most of them are pretensions flow out of vain glories and nothing else.
I am not the way I write.
My writing is the fabrics of my imagination and I am the stuff concrete in the make.