selfish self-expression.

Three posts in a day. Yes, this is bad and it's getting worse.

The poetry contest for Catharsis closes tomorrow, and until now I am faced with a blank screen, empty as I am. If only in the midst of this despair I can find the muse, but she never speaks about ending; she only speaks of what is. Time is immaterial to her, the one entity never facing any deadlines. Or is she afraid; for she hides when I seek her voice in the midst of the chaos of the end.

And again I question my reasons for writing.

Why do I write? I believe writers are pretty selfish souls torturing pieces of paper--and now the expanse of cyberspace--through the act of unburdening their feelings that in normal circumstances would be just swept under the rug in the run of things. All in the name of self-expression.

And writing in the hopes that somewhere someone out there would say that "I feel the same" and they would find each other through fanmail then mope/laugh/cry/share the same emotions. So slowly more would find more and they'd be one whole community sharing the same sentiment, and the seeds of a revolution are planted. And as they say, rinse and repeat, though some revolutions do prosper but some sputter out and die like an old car engine that's been maintained poorly.

Yes, I do believe I'm pretty selfish myself; then again, who's not? I remember Tine's words: even the act of compassion is selfish, since you help because the act of seeing someone else happy makes you happy.

So everything can be consdered as selfish.

Sorry little paper but I've got no one else better to talk to right now.