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The Writing Poem
I am sitting here in the past typing these words and there you are in the future reading them on a screen. We're not in the same room, you don't even hear my voice Technically, I never said these words at all. These ideas are being channeled through my soul, to yours I can't take credit for writing them, and you can't take credit for reading them. Together, we are bound in a moment of time, just long enough for your eyeballs to scroll and scan and scroll and scan, these thoughts that I have recorded for you once upon a time ago. Once upon a time, there was a pain in my chest. I could not face it so instead numbed it good every way I could. And one day, the thoughts swirled up into a heap of dust! It dulled my brain and exaggerated my lust. I was lost in the heap of ideas and felt robbed of emotions. I locked myself up and threw away the key. But then one day there was a paper and next to it a ballpoint pen! A soul of light bounced through the window of my eye. "Write, write" a voice then said "document these thoughts for when they're on paper they stop being mindblocks. And through your fingers, your demons will rise and you shall transmute them into fine tunes and images. And if someone happens to read them one day then they too shall dance with the melodies, exorcize their maladies, and one day the world will be healed." And if not, well then at least we are doing magic.