sending my mind down the twisting tunnels of time trying to connect the threads of imagery to the words that make sense of them
i am drowning in my own imagination (mother warned me of this and i scoffed at the very idea) its not as silly as it seems
please forgive the k.d.laing approach but ignoring caps and punctuation makes this much easier to type under my current circumstances
where was i? ooh yes drowning in my own imagination. i have ideas that I can see in my mind but cannot draw out as a picture and funnily enough vice versa
for example i might want to draw something like a clock made of glass as part of a mechanism whose purpose is to maintain a multi dimensional barrier between our world and the rest
why? whats the point? why do you waste so much time on these odd scraps of narrative that apparently go nowhere? its because they are allegoricaland are really autobiographical in nature if not necessarily in truth
i mean i really was toad the daring 'biggles' aviator
whenever the mood took me as i rode my motorbikes through traffic at least as dangerous as stooging above the trenches in ww1
all i am doing with my stories is editing out the large
forgettable bits and polishing up what remains with the addition of fanciful projections i wish had been the case
i am not really a writer, not in the more formal organised way of the majority (of successful ones) but i have enjoyed doing this my whole life and have even been published once in an obscure hippy comic called 'snail' which i tried to run successfully as in making money but
the staff hated advertising and would not let me do it
it was a satirical short story called 'ethels lair' designed to offend the feminists as they had just got started being obnoxious about men - not without reason.
never mind the rest i hope this amused you its all i can do
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