I love writers. No mater where you go you're sure to meet one. I have had the pleasure of knowing three in my current scope of acquaintances. One is emotive, angsty, and poetic. Her material comes from her sense of helplessness in the world and her feelings of unreached potential. Another is quirky, spunky, and sharp. His work is inspired by the greats of time not long past at all, from a time of social revolution and intense political concern. The last is witty, humerus, and sarcastic. His material is inspired by his observations of the world as a place of inconsistancy and injustice with a twist of sadistic comedy. I love them all. I think the first and third have real tangible potential to become famous the first for her poetry and lyrics the last for his plays and satires. The middle may accomplish some level of acclaim but in the field perhaps of journalism as opposed to literature proper.
The Playwright, as he shall henceforth be called, and I thoroughly enjoy banter. We are constantly in a battle for the last word or the best burn.
I've slept 2 hours in the last 48.
It's 60 degrees outside at midnight in January; this isn't right.
I'm going to bed.
writters
