a sample of my older brother's writing:
"i want to write myself into a '49 hudson and drive myself out of my mind. from there, i can do anything, i think. i can put words into sentences, words that billions of people use everyday. and they'll shine until you can see yourself in them. the trouble with that is that the wrong person could see the wrong thing in the wrong sentence. and where does that put me? me, mr. worried, wearied, analytical overreactor? it puts me in a position to censor myself, block myself off and write some safe little rambling about my goddamn needle on my tired little record player. i want to write my way to larimar street in old denver and run rampant into the early morning with nothing but a plate of insomnia in front of me. rescue me, my moriarty, whoever you are. i'm close to complacency. i want to write like paradise. the only difference is, i want to drive."
reid, i'm begging you, please share more with us! this excerpt is beyond words.
c.
5 comments:
come on, reid!
We want to read Reid!
(You don't know me, but I am now a fan).
sweet mother reid--i'm BLOWN away.
After reading his, then reading mine, I feel kind of foolish.
its like i'm tasting the butter of p-dub ...
"i want you to light that fire with nothing but your soul then glue that fire to the moon"
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