“The heart was made to be broken.”
— Oscar Wilde 

For some reason, I seem to identify with Oscar Wilde on many levels. I’m a writer, pessimistic, depressed, and overall, a self-professed narcissist.

Who knows, I may even start dressing like this one day. Just because.

Anyway, I digress.

I find myself fumbling back into my writing, adding and subtracting dialogues and descriptions from many pieces — poetry to blog posts — with not even a goal in mind. I’m not writing for completion purposes, or to submit, or to even perform or show. I think my fingers may just need to hit keystrokes solely to keep my brain from hemorrhage.

Metaphorically, of course.

My music has become ambient, conveying more emotion than driven progressions and chunky verses, kind of like I’ve relegated back into shoegazing, just without the pedals and amplifiers.


Interesting how music and creativity coincide with current thoughts and emotions?



About Robert L. Franklin

Ah, the About Me section - social networking's excuse for you sounding like an elitist prick. Hmm... what to say? What to say?
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