Haha, I remembered why I left dA. Silly me! It's actually because I can't write. (Don't argue with me either.) Have you read the books I've read? How can I compare to that? What do I have on Wilde or Nabokov or any of them? They do, admittedly, have the advantage of being much older than me (and, for the most part, dead) and having their own styles, which, by the way, I seem to be incapable of cultivating. I think there has been sufficient reason for me not writing recently and general confusion over who and what I am and will be etc. If I am no writer then, what am I? I am, by no means, much of a muchness at all. I seem to be lacking in some defining quality (don't say confidence or self-esteem ) though, supposedly, that's what we all have inside, we just need to "believe in ourselves". (Now, imagine me grumbling disapprovingly) It's not really what's on the inside that counts, it's how you project it, how you preform and present your own puppeted self. Unfortunately, expanding on that metaphor, I keep tangling my own strings. Or, perhaps, I'm not a 'string puppet'. I'd think myself more of a sock puppet. I was never meant to be a 'puppet' in the first place. Menial task me, acts of the unpleasant but necessary... And, worn and recycled, I think I can make myself something else, when it's clear that I am a 'sock'.
(What strange metaphors...) Well, whatever.