The Waters

Dear World

Please Kill Me,

Greetings, and happy Thursday, my wading writers of the literary coasts. How are you? Should the pathways to the next dimension have opened in proper sequence – then step left, then right, then left again – how was it? (And also, how many of you are inebriated enough to have actually tried doing that?)

*looks to both sides*

*steps left, then right*

*drops head in ironic shame*

Well, now that we’ve both wasted time -contemplating, (/doing), ridiculous things- how’s about we waste a bit more discussing writerly things?

The Waters, (also known as- an 80’s folk music band – that didn’t quite “make it”. #SadStory #BadMusic).

So, a quick update on my life, (as its’ random going’s on are the secret parent of this post #WhoThePaPa?). I’ve been in the new place, for a while – and I’m only now starting to feel comfortable. That comfortability -of course- shows itself in the form of; Buying new clothes, exploring the area, (watching adult movies with the door open?), meeting new people, etc.

Then came the moment that comes to all of us, (at one point or another). Once the distraction of the problems at hand had been handled (#BuyingVariousFormsOf Tissue #ThinkAboutIt). A period of emotional and physical weightlessness took over me. Not necessarily good, nor bad. Just, adrift.

Followed by that, (and a shot or 2 (or 9), of vodka) – the time was appropriate to address the new/old task in front of me.

I was still me.

That means I’m still a writer. And of course, that means that my life is still, (a clusterbomb of bad decisions, mixed with a deep psychological connection to fictional people?)- that life was still a bit weird.

You see, one thing that’s rarely discussed for the #WriterAtLarge, is that once it’s decided that we spend obscene amounts of time performing the craft – everything else kind of falls of away.

As a sort of, collateral damage to that fact, we become used to a certain amount of necessary solitude, (and not wearing pants), that blind us to the inevitable truth that when we return- life is still, just kind of there. Worse yet, we may not know just how the F–K to deal with it.

(This is the part where I pretentiously connect it all).

That time, my dear writers is, The Waters.

Now, this isn’t anything to fear, or panic about, (that comes later). Instead, it’s just a thing to be aware of.

*Though we may mentally abscond, the world is still there – don’t forget to be citizen in the “normie” realm as well*

So, spend the necessary time in your current literary utopia, (reader and writer alike). Also, spend whatever time you see fit afloat in the waters, (it tends to fuel the imagination), but never forget to exist amongst the drones every once in a while.

*It’s hard to know you’re flying if you forget where the ground is.*

So retain some sanity, (like 10%), and write forth. You’ll only get better for it.

End The Week Strong,

Antwan Crump.

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3 thoughts on “The Waters

    1. Ahh, but the vodka has an honesty to it. When we drink it, we KNOW it’s vodka, and what it will do.
      The last time I drank scotch, (very irresponsibly), I nearly shipped off to thank it’s creator in person, (wearing only a pirate hat and a ukulele #Don’tAskWhereIKeptIt). Always good to see you around here Rob.

      Liked by 1 person

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