"PLUCK THE DAY [AS IT IS RIPE]!"

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I find glory in writing.

There is a sense of bitterness to write my ugly truths.

There is a sense of great beauty to write my fantasies. Magnificence.

There is always peculiar sensation in my systematic series of composing a piece or two of writing.

Writing is something I am grateful for - for being able to do what I love, in hope that it is also something which allows me to pursue in the future.

Writing fuels my own chase - just like great people interest me, just like great stuffs fill me with astonishment.

LOG OF THE DUSK

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She is there alone - like she was before.

She thought she was that weak, but almost at dusk of the day, as she glanced thru her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of silvery grey across the sky, with gray branches of tree swayed in the dancing wind: particle of the universe is always her companion. 

The velvety desire within her told her that she was strong - she is.

Musical notes crept thru the white wires - sending another jolt of pure, electric anodes of power to her soul, pumping it joyfully yet subtly - then, she curved a crescent moon smile: believing in getting by and letting the magic happen.

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picture: private document