I do not exist
I was who I was told I was
I was who I was expected to be
I was… Was I?
No!
I am who I want to be
I am a myth, a story, a ghost
I am flux that can be shaped anyhow
I am me, I am you, I am anyone
Words capture the form
Fleeting though it is
In these ephemeral scapes
I exist
I am
The Wordscapist
Everything you say is true… somewhere. How artful your truth is (no, there are no lies) and what you make of it determines how real your wordscapes are.
You shape your reality; consciously, through actions, and unconsciously, through means you do not realise, far less understand. There are some though, who know more, do more, say more. They use words. They weave reality with words. Wordsmiths.
It is part gift and part rigour. It is half discovered and half tutored. It must be absorbed and harnessed. Somewhere between the lore of magic and the abstractions of sub-atomic resonance, lies the art of weaving wordscapes. It is a powerful art, one that binds and one that destroys. And yet, it is not infinite. Its boundaries define it as much as they limit it.
There is one who can weave beyond these boundaries… the Wordscapist.
Reaching the pinnacle is a journey, a tale of becoming, realising. Power comes in reasonably, and at times frustratingly, small increments. He didn’t have that luxury. Power came as a tornado, brought on by insanity and sheer chance, sweeping him up and throwing him into a melee of warmongers. A con artiste suddenly found himself the genuine article and then had to live up to the reputation. The world would have to wait while the one man with the power to destroy it waged a personal war to save himself.
It is a world made of words. The written, the spoken, and even the thought… all words, little bits that define reality. It is a world that you and I live in, today, now. It is all going to change soon. Buckle up. Hang on. And yes, careful what you say. Everything you say is true… becomes true… somewhere.
Cogito Ergo Finito
I was who I was told I was
I was who I was expected to be
I was… Was I?
No!
I am who I want to be
I am a myth, a story, a ghost
I am flux that can be shaped anyhow
I am me, I am you, I am anyone
Words capture the form
Fleeting though it is
In these ephemeral scapes
I exist
I am
The Wordscapist
Everything you say is true… somewhere. How artful your truth is (no, there are no lies) and what you make of it determines how real your wordscapes are.
You shape your reality; consciously, through actions, and unconsciously, through means you do not realise, far less understand. There are some though, who know more, do more, say more. They use words. They weave reality with words. Wordsmiths.
It is part gift and part rigour. It is half discovered and half tutored. It must be absorbed and harnessed. Somewhere between the lore of magic and the abstractions of sub-atomic resonance, lies the art of weaving wordscapes. It is a powerful art, one that binds and one that destroys. And yet, it is not infinite. Its boundaries define it as much as they limit it.
There is one who can weave beyond these boundaries… the Wordscapist.
Reaching the pinnacle is a journey, a tale of becoming, realising. Power comes in reasonably, and at times frustratingly, small increments. He didn’t have that luxury. Power came as a tornado, brought on by insanity and sheer chance, sweeping him up and throwing him into a melee of warmongers. A con artiste suddenly found himself the genuine article and then had to live up to the reputation. The world would have to wait while the one man with the power to destroy it waged a personal war to save himself.
It is a world made of words. The written, the spoken, and even the thought… all words, little bits that define reality. It is a world that you and I live in, today, now. It is all going to change soon. Buckle up. Hang on. And yes, careful what you say. Everything you say is true… becomes true… somewhere.
Cogito Ergo Finito
3 comments:
I already see it as a movie in my head. Good going kid.
you are smooth! as smooth and chilling as a mojito! and you ought to be served chilled on a rainy sunday afternoon!
i hope you continue writing!
cheers!
Il vont se rendre à la magie des mots! Thou has chosen thy words well!
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