A Writer’s Creed
I write to keep from killing, from slaughtering the guilty and the innocent. The choice is thus society’s, not mine, for either let my pen flow or blood shall flow upon this land because there are those who have wronged me, stolen from me, lied about me, banned me from employment, refused to invite me to their gatherings to celebrate life or even art, for that matter. So let my pen flow and do not disturb me for anything, especially some menial chore, some mundane exercise, simply leave me alone in the silence of my room. Let me think about the finer things of life, what words to say, what metaphors, what psycholinguistic turns of the mind, the sociology and history of a people, yes, let me dwell there or else there shall be chaos in the land and blood shall flow like a river, for my spirit shall be suppressed and shall seek an outlet in blood from the misery of my mind.
Yes, I am a killer in disguise, who appears in the persona of a writer for the good of society but continue to oppress me, suppress me, and I shall strike out in a moment of black madness and you who have wronged me shall see your guts spilled, your head smashed against the concrete, believe me, it is only a matter of time before I shall seek my revenge and come upon you in the night like a panther, and you shall cry out in horror and my knife shall be upon your throat and from thence to the splitting of your guts upon the ground. I shall walk away with laughter and joy only the devil himself shall understand and appreciate.
April 17, 2009