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Slow Sure

It’s important to do the things that give your life purpose.
The rest should take second place importance.
Jack does just that in this poem as he explains why he’s not rapping, yet.

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Willing to spit
But saliva ain’t worth shit
Still alive, I won’t stand, sit
Wasted time get a man hit
Rep Demi, sitting back
Let me crate those thoughts
For the war gods
The pen, a whore
There’s no note not written for
Except of course
One’s behind locked doors
But set a course using force
Upset the order
Rewrite the border
Word hoarder
Obsessed with disordered
Detested ‘cause I murder words
No regrets
Yes, that’s what you heard

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Self-Taught

Jack rambles about not believing in writers block and explains why.

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Once in a while I draw blanks when attempting to come up with something new to write. But I don’t quit. I’m well trained. Disciplined enough to know just by writing my thoughts down I’ll get somewhere.

I’ve taught myself to expand on seemingly any amount of writing through nothing but will power. I’ve stopped believing writers block is anything more than a state of mind the inexperienced go through. It’s become too easy to turn nothing into something.

See, one of the main lessons about writing is to understand that what one means when they say ‘being a writer’ what they really mean is being a self-editor. Understanding how to twist and turn your own words into something greater than they were on the first round.

Take the first few sentences of this very aimless rant, for example. I can simply change the perspective to third person and pretend I’m telling you the story of a struggling writer. One who is about to force through his writers block and come to the conclusion that anything is possible with a little effort. But in reality this started as nothing more than a mental exercise. Nothing more than my writing to myself about not knowing what to write. Yet, that turns out…

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