all my heroes are weirdos

We're All Mad Here

The Jotter’s Journey

Every morning I rise with the sun and as my thoughts cruise the last of the morning’s Alpha waves, I catch my dreams and drizzle them onto paper. Words flow freely from my fingertips as I drain my brain of ideas and thoughts.

Writing is my obsession, my pick-me-up, my remedy.

What first started out as an occasional dalliance has become a full-blown passionate affair and now we’re dancing in the moonlight, somewhere in between lust and love, and I am enamoured with the written word.

It’s a calligraphic craving that I can never seem to satisfy and it’s got me wanting more and more. Morphemes have become my morphine; I’m a dopamine junkie, high on the rush of syllables pouring from my mind as I scribble down my next hit.

Words are the only way I can set my imagination free from the iron bars of its cranial prison and together we escape.  We become whimsical wordsmiths holding on to an empty map, dreaming up a world of impossibility that transcends time, and we lose ourselves in the poetry of it all.

And just like love, when my ink hits the page it is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, a spell is cast and we are both transformed.

The Jotter’s Journey

When we return from our scripted expedition, writing keeps me there in the sanctuary of its warm embrace as I read back on our journey through the eyes of a reader.

Sometimes my contemplation doesn’t give me any answers, but after hours and hours of rhetorical interrogation, my utterances solidify into the shape of a golden key that helps me unlock some of the mysteries of my own mind. My flickering thoughts become still shining lights and I can see clearly.

Other times, I’ll want to retrace my steps back to where it all began and start over. If I’m not alone on the exploration, we’ll amble back together along my poetised path. My critics become my travel companions, foraging their way through my fantasy.

It’s often through the observations and guidance of others, that I’ll find the courage to meander away from my zone of comfort and down another track. On occasion, we’ll reach a dead-end and have to turn back, or wait around a while until the path clears, but somehow, we’ll always make it to where we want to be on our little road to nowhere.

Their ideas will excite and inspire me, they point out things I couldn’t see before and they indulge in words I’d barely even noticed.  They take my hand and lead me forward on our adventure, our lesson.

I write, I read, I listen, I learn and I grow.

Masquerades & Masterpieces

No one voyage can ever be the same and every procession of paragraphs hosts an Ichi-go ichi-e meeting of words as my multifaceted existence oozes out onto the pages I write on.

One day I might wake up and my business brain wants to share debate-evoking insight on our planet’s fast fashion fatalities. The next, I might wake up wearing rose-tinted glasses, fancifully philosophising over the golden life-force that climbs our skies as the warm brilliance of its fiery blaze drenches me in dreams.

And on other days, I can be found entertaining myself at my own misfortune and the oddities of life, served up with a sprinkling of self-deprecation and a dollop of disaster artistry.

It’s a masquerade ball of masterpieces and I have a treasure chest of disguises to choose from.

Scribbles & Soul Mates

Benjamin Franklyn said, either write something worth reading or do something worth writing. Even without a pen in hand, my thoughts are consumed with the idea of it all and I know that every moment I’m living could be a story that I will one day tell.

There’s no injury that can’t be healed and no lack of signposts that can get me lost when I’m marching down libretto lanes with my alphabetic army, trooping forward. My semantic soldiers storm on without cease and there is no room for writer’s block on the battlefields of my creative mind.

I rebel against the limitations of my physical and mental self, and even the constraints of time. When I’m writing, time stands still; nothing and nobody else matters. I’m chronically addicted to chronicles and it feels truer than any love I’ve ever known.

Writing is my soul mate and he loves me, just the way I am.

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2 Comments

  1. Rae 5 December 2018

    Your passion gives permission to others! Laughter accompanies each new musing, along with recognition and the aim to remember compassion for us all!
    Long may the joyful jotting continue. R.

    • allmyheroesareweirdos 5 December 2018 — Post author

      LOVE LOVE LOVE. Send you passion and permission to you and your pedals x.x.x.x.

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