Opinions
Why Write?
Stealing is a favorite Filipino dish, and such a daring statement seems to resemble raw truth enough to indict and hang everyone but the same will not be the subject of this digital diatribe.
Simply not in the mood to play political. Likewise do I swear that neither will unholy innuendo’s be iterated offering redemption to the morally enslaved human bipeds. Let me for a moment spare the decrepit masses.
The object of writing is creation- giving form to chaos; breathing life to the lifeless; reinventing the bitter encomiast; poignantly blasting wailing walls with unhampered profanity.
The subject, by the way, is writing. The measure of everything depends on the vastness of a punctuation. Writing can simply make a fish sing a song and even actually place notes on it.
Our mind is designed to ingest thought-perceptions and can label them with a thousand words per millisecond. Regardless of the limitless nature of human stupidity, still the psychological frame of human reason can employ corrective means in delineating things innately creative from that of the base and the fancy.
It was Caesar’s greatest conquest when he unrepentantly slaughtered his all time adversary, his fear of writing, the only true king of emperors: Graphophobia. The Gallic War is a living manifesto of how frolicsome, how impish, how little Julius Caesar was. There he toyed his latin and made love with words. Though such Caesarian scroll preaches archaic military adventures nevertheless it gives the taciturn reader an ultimate paroxysm, a fleshly satisfaction pointing towards the prologue of an unparalleled astral poesy.
An ounce of ink was believed to be the last object that came out in Pandora’s box. The gods always knew that the fall of mankind is due to his lack of vocabulary, and his salvation? The dictionary. When Marco Polo finally got convinced of his self-inflicted confusion and thus decided to lazily perambulate and document his journey into the ends of the unknown realm and using the expedition the gem which he sought was nothing but modest silence.
He loathes the noise of the moderns, hence, the daring flight into solitude and stillness. How did he put into description the colors, the landscape, the thoughts, and the traits of peoples they encountered? Marco Polo invented ineffable words for them.
He painted the minds of his countrymen with his own imaginations, indigestion’s, and sprinkle them with his wicked interpretation of a world he so desired to write.
Verily, he poured ink to his vanity.
Indeed Europe got startled.
Enough with this indulgence.
#ThrowbackThursday
