Sotavasara.net

Da Big Boss kirjoitti:Mä tahdon päästä lukemaan tarinoita nyt nyt nyt. Mikä kestää!!!1??

Rune kirjoitti: Elämä.

Ja ehkä vähän miun etuoven eteen ilmestyneet grillipippalot. ;) "Oy, you fancy a beer?!" "I would."

Da Big Boss kirjoitti:Arvatkaa kuka saa jumbopaikan?

Da Big Boss kirjoitti:Mun äänestys lähti nyt Runelle.

Jostain syystä arvostelustani tuli Skydrive versio hotmailin pelleilyn takia, joten Runella saattaa löytyä kaksi sähköpostia multa, joista ''Äänestys'' otsikolla varustettu on oikea ja virallinen äänestykseni. Ekan epäonnistuneen poistin, joten ainostaan '' Äänestys'' pitäisi löytyä :)

I’m storming my brains off.

That’s called a brainstorm.

What’s called writing, is the state of mind where you communicate through words rather than speech. Speech consists of words, but in their pronounced, vocal version – sound patterns, not graphical markings.

Writing is a storm of a brain; similar to a discussion with people, when writing one discusses with the paper, with one’s own words and thoughts, and debates the authors own mind. It is solitude, and complete freedom. When writing, one finds himself away from social restrictions, from other people, from expectations and dull conventions.

Then, we have the issue of language. Languages, words, ideas, thoughts themselves – the first mentioned form and make a focus for the latter to be understood. Feelings and ideas are there even without a language. Words have to be formed and found in order to bring a form to them.

Now then, when we have two languages one has been using for quite some time now, it might get tricky. Social pressure and conventions rise from the soil, like branches and roots grab you and hold one still, restrict and constrict. When writing, however, one acknowledges the fault in this, and recognizes what writing and freedom truly is, and how they intervene.

With this truth one can get forward, and leave the world and earthly commitments behind. They really are not needed! Now my only restriction is me, the only wall to climb built be my, the thorns my own, and the weeping child in the corner me. There was once strength, however, and it never left. Nothing never leaves, and nothing is ever unobtainable. Especially when it is yourself to battle, to embrace...