Saturday, 30 April 2011

Fuck Perfection...

With so little left unwritten in the age of media, I miss my little black book of pure blankness and inspiration. There is something uniquely stimulating about the purity of a fresh page of a private journal. Paper has no distractions or status and can sincerely hold a secret for a lifetime.

My pen was once my magic wand inked with freedom of expression. Writing gives an energising power of confidence with the ability to create a completely new world. It is an escape to one’s own dimension: a lawless Utopia.

The delete button is unforgiving and permanent. Mistakes can be beautiful. Perfection can be shallow. The novelty of laziness is wearing thin and I am no longer enjoying the speed of this digital-bandwagon.

Appreciation for a ‘quirk’ forever hidden is exclusively rewarding, yet self-approval is much more desirable. There is nothing more pressurising than trying to be distinctive when you are competing with a ‘Spelling and Grammar’ tool.

Therefore, I vow to stay faithful to my book of shadows. No more ‘backspace’. It is time to make loud mistakes.

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