Begin Rant.
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I've written. I've read.
More importantly: I've read what I've written and I fear my prose and poetry have suffered majorly. At least it seems so from the pieces I have chosen to share with the world in recent times. While in some conversations in the virtual realm I tend to surprise even myself with the eloquence of my... speech, if you will, when it comes to writing- sincere, honest writing, I seem to falter. I loose steam halfway through pieces of prose, poetic fragments meant to go together that sound so beautiful, though incomplete, as stand-alone pieces loose their shine, their crisp glory when put together.
Altogether it seems to be a bad time for writing for me, at least when it comes to anything but the rant. Rants I still manage somehow. Perhaps because they do not demand as much coherence as a proper prose piece would or perhaps because I don't bother stopping to think and hence the sentences just flow together, something that helps the eye glide over the writing with ease despite any minute flaws, or even major ones at times.
Whatever it is, I apologize for having submitted my readers (assuming they ever existed, and that they still do) to this recent trend of posting piece after piece of nonsensical drivel. More importantly, I shall now apologize to myself, then duly thrash said self (mentally, of course) and get my act together.
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End Rant.
