“Writers are desperate people and when they stop being desperate they stop being writers.” — Charles Bukowski
Desperate. Is there a single writer out there who wasn’t?
Desperate. The Writer was. The Writer is.
Desperate to assume the world, to conquer it, to explore it, to understand it, to define it. To find meanings in all the beauty that hides in plain sight.
Desperate. To know who he is, what is he’s place in the world.
Oh, it’s not what this is all about?
Is it about some other form of desperation? How many forms are there?
Too many to count.
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