Day 4 today.
Had a test yesterday that went pretty ok so, very chuffed. Occurred me to me to write about something important.
Why do I write?

I write because I can’t NOT write
It’s not about just putting thoughts to paper for me. It’s not only about its therapeutic effects. I live through my stories. Everything I write has happened in my head. I am somewhere in a particular scene. It is the only way I see things vividly.
I know what it feels like to give birth to a child; to kill, destroy, be a succubus, be a monster, be an idiot. That is because I have lived them. There are worlds inside my head. Worlds that do not need to obey the laws of whatever binds this present world together. In those worlds, I can be anything and get away with it. I am the Law.
This might sound a bit kooky…actually it is kooky but i’ll carry on.
My mind isn’t a dark place; it is just a place where dark things happen.
Madness holds a terribly allure for me. It enchants me. I wish to sit a clinically insane man down and write down everything he says. Sometimes, I pattern my writing to this madness, to channel, feel. Let’s all be mad together. For a few words or  thousand.
Let’s step into that world.

I write for an audience. I write for genuine bibliophiles. I write for those who know bullshit plots from real stories and not just the washers. I write for the writers who live inside their heads too. I write for them because it is a communion; a conjugation maybe of minds. I want to show you what’s going on in me, show me yours?

I write to make me laugh. If my rants do not raise a chuckle from me, I do not post them. That is the only reason they are really funny, because it is really difficult to make me laugh with written words. I write rants in a bad mood to lighten me up; to remind myself I am just another stinking human on the planet.
I write to make me cry. I want to cry because I want to feel pain. I want to feel pain because Pain is what makes me human. I want to cry as I write and laugh at myself as I cry while I write. I know, I am a mess.

I rarely write to pass on a message. Truth is, I have no message. This is why I really love horror stories. Where is the message in one dying? Lol. Whatever message comes out of my write ups should be attributed to my subconscious.

I write because I love to read. I want to write what I’d love to read. I want to pen a book as crazy as a ‘King’. I write because that is my goal. Do I want to get published? I don’t know. I just want to write something, read it and pat myself on the back. Reading has always influenced my thought process. My thought process influences events in the worlds in my head. When that world spills out, we have a tale. You get what I am trying to say. I hope.

I write to be remembered. Not like a huge monument to my name or works; No. I want to stay on your mind. Even if it’s a little corner. I write because I want you one day to read a book and think “Oh I remember someone who had a similar story”. I write because I don’t want you to forget me. Don’t. I’ll make you laugh. I’ll try scare you. Two hardest things to do as a writer. Just. Don’t. Forget. Me.

A piece of me is in every story I’ve ever written. I fear one day, I’ll have nothing left to share. What next then? I’ll have to start writing to collect my soul back. The insane part of me believes my life force is in my stories. The more I write, the shorter my lifespan- as a writer? as a person?

What am I trying to say?
I write just because.
That is it.
Just because I can. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. It’s my imagination not yours.
Expression, like fine arts, only with words.

I am done.
I should sleep. It’s past 4am! x_x

See you tomorrow yes? no?