WHY WRITING / SINGING / PAINTING, ETC?

WHY WRITING / SINGING / PAINTING, ETC? - written by jrqc

At this stage, I believe there is plenty of information out there which you may or may not be familiar with. From the early stages at school, we are taught, in many people's cases, to deploy our skills in the shape of essays, short stories, poems, creative and free writing, for instance.

Many have gone through these tasks as if in a battlefield or as if they were being dragged out of bed on a rainy Sunday morning, but let me tell you this: no matter your current or past situation, writing is an important skill to sharpen and develop, mainly for our own benefit. Don't you think?

As with many other sources of art in which our feelings and emotions are portrayed in different mediums, writing is certainly not an exception. It is almost therapeutic to the point that we set free our imagination through sensory experiences embodied in words and imagery. It is liberating, since there is an outlet for those feelings bubbling inside of us, begging to be released, and any form of art or creative means can aid us in draining them out when we are stressed, sad, happy, or excited.

There is a lot to be explored about ourselves, nature, the world, and the people around us that must be taken the most of. There is something magical in the wind or how the rain falls over the flowers in a garden, or when someone is reading a book and a sunbeam is falling and enveloping them, making them look almost celestial, and someone out there has either written about it or painted it from their very own point of view, from the unique way they see the world and that particular scene. Just by affirming and registering that reality is simply wonderful. We are unique beings capable of creating, singing, writing, loving, dancing, painting, etc., and THAT is just incredible.

Writing as a form of expression represents creating something fresh, shaping words, sounds, and rhythm to give them life in our and other people's minds. Be it singing, dancing, or any other form of art, they all help to achieve an inner goal, and that, in my personal view, is to unleash the creative "me" that falls in love with a Van Gogh or just by looking at birds flying in the sky.

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LA CHICA DEL CALLEJÓN - Descripcion de personaje de ficcion - de jrqc

Ese día el sol brillaba como siempre, bañandola en su resplendor, tornando el color de su piel en tonos de miel y nuez. Su juventud perfumaba la calle y los ojos de los espectadores no la perdían de vista. Ella era simplemente la frescura de la primavera y el calor del verano combinadas casi perfectamente en las carnes y la figura de su cuerpo. Sus senos firmes dejaban entrever las aureolas de la juventud, mientras sus piernas daban paso a ese menear característico de su coqueteo, al que daba rienda suelta así como su castaña y ondulada cabellera. Su mente anidaba la sed de ver el mundo, de ir más allá de embriagarse del placer que éste le pudiera ofrecer y sin escatimar en ambiciones y sueños ella simplemente se dejaba ir. Era la carencia de estas vivencias y posesiones que la presionaban a sumirse y ser esclava de ambiciones que a veces eran malsanas y mezquinas, pero a ella eso no le importaba. Deseaba agarrar al mundo y hacerle su esclavo, deseaba ser complacida y en su parece...

THAT EVENING - by jrqc

You once said that we are entangled to death since the moment we are born, that we are chained to this earthly prison and that there is nothing we can possibly do about it, that all joy sinks countless times and that lovers will always mourn their dead love swallowed by neverending grief. It seems somehow that sadness in all its complexity lingers within, it extends it branches all over without distinction, with no regrets for who the victim is. Some branches seem to be so rooted that it makes the heart break, it makes it bleed tears to the point that you can barely function. Yes, I do still remember that evening when you said that and I noticed your face sinking, your spirit broken. However, you wouldn't divulge the reason of your torment. Your beautiful darkened eyes were bloodshot and you observed me, intently, your eyebrows would frown at times and your stare would grow deeper as if trying to snatch my soul. You stood close to me, I could feel your cold breath, I could feel you...

WHAT AM I TO YOU? - metaphorical / existential poem by jrqc (explained)

What am I to you but a simple whisper that gets carried away by the breeze? Oh how I wish I was more than a clump of sand and bones, that drain through your fingers like water, but, could I just be more than existence? Tell me dear, for I long to be, for I long more than mere existence! In my dreams of dreams you kiss me, in my dreams of dreams you exercise your power over me, and I just succumb to the temptation of your temple, I just surrender my flesh to your overpowering caprice of molding me like clay, but tell me dear, is it gratifying being the victim of such relentless temptation? What am I to you? What do you seek from me? You kiss me with your embrace, and I tremble, and I sing to escape you, and yet still you kiss my tears, so tell me my beloved, are you here to let me go yonder where the shadows don't dare to envelop their surroundings? tell me I beg of you, for existence is vague when there is no purpose, and I long for not only the love of yours, that flesh of ...

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