My Hands Are But Blocks Of Useless Flesh
Friday, April 01, 2005
I have been looking back on some of the stuff I have written and I am having serious doubts about whether I am capable of writing something of decent quality. I am prone to self deprecation and am always ready to find fault in anything I do. This said, I am seriously worried that I am producing a soggy pile of typed diarrhoea.
The process is taking too long. Sometimes a single paragraph has to be trudged out of me in days rather than minutes. I am not a writer, I am the same as the people that I hate, I am nothing special. I am a piece of living scum that decided to poke its head out of the sewer. I liked what I saw and wanted what other people had but you can't put a shine on a shite.
The process is taking too long. Sometimes a single paragraph has to be trudged out of me in days rather than minutes. I am not a writer, I am the same as the people that I hate, I am nothing special. I am a piece of living scum that decided to poke its head out of the sewer. I liked what I saw and wanted what other people had but you can't put a shine on a shite.
