I love writing.

I adore to write.

I just love it.

I love the process, I am fond of accessories. Even the pencil sharpeners can make me smile. Or pencils, I love those woody, those old-fashioned. Those still sooo… yummy graphite. And pens. And paper. Love that milky or even ecru color, fat one… As a kid I used to find newspapers… tasty.

Yeah… they used to be more healthy!


I use pens and pencils, paper of course, and then… laptop, but paper must be first. Even if i then have problems in reading my own handwriting. It sucks! It reminds me of angry warriors on drugs walking in different ways, dressed differently and totally unable to decide who to attack.

Somehow I could no live without writing. Without all those warriors, co confused on my cards. Then so politely piled into files. I could not live without my stories, in fact making myself smiled or scared, frighten: how the heck all this can live with me, and my brain is still in one piece. Okay, biologically speaking more or less, right?

Maybe little stories, maybe crazy, maybe not important, but still… usually only mine. Because I do not like sharing them. Not all of them. I need to have something what is only mine. Of course I have blogs – 4 of them!!! 7smoki.eu and snebamse.dk and this one and bornholmdifferent.dk but still… nowadays 2 of them are totally TLDR blogs. Because I love words and playing with them, so I am like physically hurt when I can fit only two verses. I always need more.

TLDR… this is so nasty and rude in fact, but truly speaking… Do I want to be read? Do I really?


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