Literaturist

It looks near-perfect outside. Sun's hiding behind the clouds. Probably it's heard the curses from the locals, me definitely one of them. I know the Sun though, it's a brave bugger I tell ya. It's just taking a break. After all, producing so much energy will take a toll on you too, if you were it. Have a break son, you deserve it. Us too.

I've been reading this book recently. Like everything I have, there's a story behind it, behind the story it holds between the pages. If the book could talk it'll not only tell you what's on the pages, but how it got into my hands in the first place.

Let's just say that, the reason I went through so much was to ensure there was a meaning behind the specific book I got. The cover's key, for it explains what the book is about, that is if you know what it means, and the reason behind the illustration.
One relation to another, everything's linked. Like the phrases on the pages. Well, most of it at least.

I've been finding it a challenge though, to read it consistently. I don't know if it's the richness in the pages, or the concentration levels I've been having recently. My mind doesn't want to focus fully and for prolonged periods. And I'm thinking that the language has a part to play it must have at least a certain role in it. And with that in mind I too believe my mind's been exhausted lately to have enough concentration. It seems to wander off, and I find myself snoozing.

I hate it when I force myself to do something, and right now I'm not enjoying myself while reading. Don't get me wrong I think the book's really well written. I can somehow understand the things that are written, with the purpose of imposing a certain style and ambiguity. It's like asking the reader,"Do you really understand me to know what I mean here?". I can relate to this style because, it's very similar to the way I write and the way I phrase things. I never knew what style was it; I didn't even know it was a style. Until I found this book.

Literature, it's called. Elementary my dear.

And with the realisation that I'm actually writing the same way as one of the world's most renowned authors makes me glee. Because I've never read his books, but I was always pulled towards this style like a magnet. Of course there are many others who are too, for most parts, able to write in this similar way. It makes me baffled though when I pull it off. Cause I certainly know what it means, it's challenging the reader to wonder for a while. Wonder, wonder what on earth I'm writing? Wondering if I could even write properly in the first place. Wondering if I was just pulling a fast one to fascinate.

And some continue wondering, probing into questions till they get it, or at least they think they've got it. Others just look, cough rubbish, and move on.

Fascinating, it really is. And that's what it is.

I wonder if any of my writings would ever be analysed by the masses. It would be wonderful, a compliment to something that is a gift to me. I gift I'm thankful for and, blessed to have. This time it's me wondering.

Wonder,
wonder.
Wondering wonder.

Btw, the sun's out already. I told you, it's a brave bugger didn't I tell you?