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The Journal of Elle O'Connor A horse is a horse unless it's a rose by any other name.
11/22/2005 01:12 a.m.
With words, I want to slice through all the layers of you, the skin and the tissue and the muscle and the resistance and the defenses. Like the fin of a shark gliding effortlessly through water, I want to cut to the core of you and move you...with words, waves and waves of words that flood over you as you receive them effortlessly, willingly, and experience them buoyantly as you bob to their flow, being held up by them. I want to create arrangements of words that affect you as the wind affects you in the spring, closing your eyes and being transported, riding the crest of the wind and the waves as they soar seamlessly to the sky and invite you for the ride. I want your skin to respond when they're soothing and your hair to bristle when they're harsh. Feel them, because they move you, take them because you want to, experience them because you cannot help it. I want them to sting and slap and soothe and hold...your mind ignited because of words on paper. I want to affect you by touching you as you ride through my mind with me while it twists and turns and dips and crashes lightning fast sometimes, but it's a good mind and I want you to see it from the inside out...
I am currently Random
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