I’ve just reached another deciding point in my life, balconied over the brewing Ecuadorian sea. Reading a paperback of Ginsberg, I decided I am going back to school. I don’t know why I’m having these thoughts right now- maybe, it’s because I would love to have my works published one day and read to be absorbed by the people, so they can see my twisted mind and relate to the wickedness of reality that our daily lives are saturated in. And if not for that- my love for writing would not be an ounce thinner than the hairs on homer’s head. To document a life, that is beautiful in itself. But to look back and reminisce with the loved ones we experienced life with that is a masterpiece. It’s not my fear of forgetting, but, more of a love towards life and appreciation.
Undoubtedly, I will keep my style of prose- but to study the classics of Machiavellian and Voltaire, or the raw grittiness behind Ginsberg’s or Kerouac’s famed generation, will help assist in sculpted structures and further my knowledge on writing styles.
There is no doubt that my structure is flawed. I eke for understanding and fluidity of writing and a well trained mind, all pushing me in the direction of returning to school.
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