“When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist.”
– Dom Helder Camara

To read Camara’s famous ‘Spiral of Violence’ short, go

“Art for art’s sake is an empty phrase. Art for the sake of truth, art for the sake of the good and the beautiful, that is the faith I am searching for.”
– George Sand

Sitting, waiting
For thoughts that never come
Wishing, missing
The dream of you

Forever lying
No longer even trying
Emotionally incapable of crying

Sighing, dying
With each and every breath

Failing to spark any connection, any real interest. Desire is all but gone. Emotions are slow to come.
What has happened?

The words mean nothing to me, bounce off and fall away…

Shy flights of the mind, yet ever expansive. Out of control, hard to even notice. Wishing the pain would return, to spur me on. A push in the back, friendly or otherwise. Needs to be firm, yet gentle at the same time. A conundrum. A habit. A sickness. A weakness. A function. A behaviour. A versatility of wayward thoughts, composed, and diligent. Reckless and ambitious. Careless and loving.

Capable – no, incapable. Unimaginable breakthroughs can happen. Waiting helped nothing.

Expect to see more of them! This blog is currently undergoing Writer’s Block, aka lazyitis. A serious condition that inflicts those commonly associated with reading novels, more than writing stories. This may, or may not, change in the future. The author of this post finds his eyes constantly travelling to this rendezvous, only to return and find out just how long ago it was that he last spilled ink. Oops. To save pride, if anything, I will have to correct this.

All that could be heard was the drip-drip of the tap.

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A story I wrote some time ago. When Joe finally posts his story today, it will form a sort of theme for the day.

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It is not uncommon for those of us who put pen to paper (or keystroke to screen) to experience what is referred to commonly as “writer’s block”, or, as I like to call it – “Writer’s constipation”. The latter term applies quite well to me, as the majority of what I write comes under the heading of “SHIT”.

I myself have been known to procrastinate for hours over things that, in retrospect, have little or no bearing to a completed piece of work. But, in the hopes that the constant spew of thought imprinted on a page will eventually bear some resemblance to a piece of literature, one often finds themselves labouring on.

Finding inspiration for any literary endeavour is frustrating at the best of times and, in my experience, I have to say that writing about nothing is often a lot easier than writing about any topic of choice. So, while I write this under the guise of it being about “writer’s block”, what it is truly about is nothing. And by nothing I mean: shit, crap, nonsense, literary diahorrea – you get the idea, yes? No? Let’s put it this way. If I were to print this, then wipe my ass with the paper it is printed on, the page would look pretty much the same.

I’m not going anywhere with this, so if you’ve read this far, I applaud your dedication to reading. I myself would have given up after the first paragraph. And that’s the key really isn’t it? Finding a way to keep the reader engaged in whatever bullshit it is that you are trying to impart on them, without getting sidetracked, which unfortunately (as you can tell by my constant rambling ) is quite easy to do.

My advice – and this is about as much as you can take away from this garbage – is to think of a topic, dwell on it, then write about midgets in bikinis for a few hours. It’s not gonna help you at all, but it’s funny to me to think that there may be someone out there who’ll give it a go.

Sorry if this painful piece of crap has been as horrible for you to read, as it was for me to write. Rest assured, my keyboard will be destroyed after this, and I will break my right (or write, hehe) hand, so such crimes against literature may never be repeated.

This is the beginning of a series of ‘quick steps’. These posts will be fast, free writing. Thinking of whatever comes to mind, and immediately typing with no editing. I would be glad to hear your comments. Here’s the first:

I’m trying to survive.

The gravel beneath my feet crunches and shifts as I try to hold firm.

How did I find my self in this position?

The bite of the blade clips my shoulder, taking a lump of me with it.

I struggle with the concept of killing this man before me, as I raise my blade and bring it down.

I kill any hesitation to not bring death, and I strike deep.

Blood spurts, eyes deaden, limbs fall weak.

Gazing down at the dead-man, I wonder what it is I’m doing.


My voice carries faintly, but not a peep answers in this beautiful meadow.

No one hears me.

I breath deep, and feel my jaw loosen.

Hot tears burn my eyes, as my body shakes.

Why, oh why?

I do not feel the bite of the rod in my back, as it strikes.

For I am already dead.

Good evening,

I’ve been pondering over this blog for the past week. The intention was for a gathering of many writers, to commune with one another and spill ink, daily. However, we’re still in the early stages of whatever this may truly turn out to be, so bear with us. I was a little irked at first, when I noticed the blank spots on our Sooty Calendar, but it’s not a worry. I’m not ambivalent towards this project, just relaxed.

At the start of the week, I was filled with a mad urge to post-post-post, but that goes against my natural state of mind. And besides, the original idea from Veriel was for this to be my blog alone, so, it’s not like low activity was unprecedented. I don’t want to push people into joining, nor do I want to pester others to write something for Footprints.

We forget most of all, that what we do isn’t supposed to be work. Writing is meant to be fun. Though writing under duress can be kind of cool, sometimes.

It is known. 😉

P.S. As we leave November swiftly behind, and lead into December, our final month of the year, I want to make December a special one. And keep this nice and full over the holidays. Everyone can use a little light reading, especially during times of inner turmoil, as a lot go through in this hectic period.

May you dampen a few pages with your ink. 😀

I have only been writing in dabs, here and there, really, over the past few days. This is the most constructive piece I’ve started, if you want to give it a look, click.

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