Allow me to missplace and vindicate, before you defecate, writing tricks of rethorical clarity, as for divine literary divinity, I've cursed your general. Without a feral reason to bother.However, in the middle of this crafty fever, I want to displace the fear among the tear my cringy typos can make.Forever and ever, I've feel that the upmost whatsoever, comes to fewer oportunities to express without a pressing reason to absolutely write in verse.However, I am sure I can at least try to craft some prose, for all the rose and pink dose of prose I can type.
Grammar is an excuse, to fuse the expressivity power of lyrics into a mere dose of rules inside the thules of known posibilities.Who are you, to make a justification that implies that writing should be, as it must be, for all It can be.Writing can be anything, a pure thing beyond the logic of biologic beiings.Human language isn't a logical, but emotional creation, a mere fabrication of rare inspiration, and is pretty clear my indignation, that it should be limited, a mited imitation of the entire history of lyrical historical creation.
