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I've finally written my first piece in about six months and it is absolutely blazing hot! I'd like any comments that you got on it!
Finally
I don't live to write...
I write to LIVE
When I write I travel freely down the superhighway of my subconscious, jumping from neuron to neuron like a chinese acrobat, stimulating a tide of ideas that rise up like Tsunamis crashing down against my soul, unearthing things I never knew were even there until metaphors and similies begin to leap through my fingertips into my pen and onto blank pages upon which I release everything I have hidden deep inside, all of my rage, my frustration, my love and my inspiration, my trials and my triumphs, my pleasures and my pains, my hopes and my dreams as I use my words as my oils and watercolors to paint my masterpieces upon the canvas of language, hoping that someone, somewhere can interpret and decode my abstracts and feel the thng I feel and see the things I see and be touched just as I was and though I may not wear freshly twisted locs, or rock a son-of-the-earth four inch afro, and my words may not be laced with politically charged messages lke "Fight the Power" or "Down with the Man," or any of a thousand pick-your-own crusade catch-phrases, I still have something to say that could touch at least one soul out there who has walked a mle in my mocassins but you won't even let me on "The List" partly because that revolution that you so covet could and will be sparked by that unknown but proud voice coming from that dude that you never knew had it like that because you made him sit in the back so many times and he just did it with no complaints until one day the warrior blood within him began to bubble up with volcanic fury and he began to speak....and his words exploded from him with the force of an exploding star....destroying all doubt and fears of anyone within earshot that he was just some Average Joe who picked up a pen one day and strung a few words together until you finally took a second to Listen, and as the words floated effortlessly from his lips into the air, they hung there like a cloud of smoke and all around breathed them in and became high, elated in the fact that instead of reciting the status quo of material fairy tales, false wealth and misguided ideaologies, something new has come forth from the darkness and as all eyes fall upon this man and all ears become receptive, I realize for the first time in a long time that that man who stands a million miles away from me is the man that I used to be and the man that I am now, so I once again become him and walk in those shoes instead of daydreaming about it, as my perspective goes from spectator to participant, I return to what it is that makes my heart sing, breaking through the barriers of my own self-doubt with the force of a thousand jackhammers swinging in unison, touching the very fabric of my own dreams and desires that I had locked away and forgotten, as I embrace the power of language and the beauty of poetry like a long lost friend, coming to the revelation that its been far too long since I've picked up a pen, put it to a pad and let myself go.
Copyright @ Erik Bradford 2006
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