If Oscar Wilde had written a blog

it wouldn't have been half as up itself as I sometimes think I might be.

aaaaah

god. one of THOSE moods

the strange indecipherable feelings that you don't fully understand or really feel

that in some strange way mesh together like the sickening lair of a spider

to create this feeling of just, well, nothing

really, I mean my problem if I write it down

is not that I am not eloquent

but that my eloquence appears in the wrong places,

like ray-ay-aaaaiiiin on your wedding day

strange really

it makes me so upset because I wish I could write down how I feel

in some creative way 

(my brother can do it, poet that he is)

but instead I just end up writing in this strange, annoyingly contrived half poetry

that I sort of write like poetry I might like to read someday

but lacks any of the actually technical language skills

to actually make it anyways a good poem

"You're jealous of the idea of the writer. You want to keep it sacred, special, not something anybody can do. Some of us have it, some of us don't. WE write, YOU get written about. What gets you about Brodie is he doesn't know his place. You say he can't write like a head waiter saying you can't come in here without a tie. Because he can't put words together. What's so good about putting words together?"

"It's traditionally considered advantageous for a writer"

"He's not a writer, He's a convict. You're a writer. You write BECAUSE you're a writer. Even when you write ABOUT something, you have to think up something to write about just you can keep writing. More well chosen words put together. So what? Why should that be IT? Who says?"

God I love Tom Stoppard, anyone who wants to read the rest REALLY should it's a brilliant play :)