ForNoPurpose
Here there be Dragons.
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- Today 3:54 AM
- Messages
- 1
There are things inside of us we keep hidden.
There are stories keptlocked away in places so few know how to find, and even fewer know exist at all.
We have this in common Dear Reader,
and that is why you find me on the other side of your screen.
I am here to dip letters into the vibrant inks of imagination.
I am here to draw distant lines of horizons, shade in mountain apertures, and fill oceans in with aquatic blues.
I am here to give birth to monsters, heroes, and dreams yet to be told.
I am here to For No Purpose but to write Dear Reader.
Yet, this goal can be accomplished alone can it not?
Black little letters placed upon so many faces of white pages.
Yes, this goal can be accomplished alone.
So, then why?
Why here?
Why on the other side of the screen?
Why even so much as a single post?
The answer is simple really.
You Dear Reader.
Because with a single sentence you can change the arc of a story so well imagined.
Because with a single idea, oceans can turn purple, green, or gold.
Because with a single breath, roses can bloom where only stone wall stood before.
For No Purpose but this do you find me here Dear Reader, and though my name will ring hollow to your memory...
It is a pleasure to meet you.
My name is James.
I have been told, by more than one, that I am long winded, and for this vice of mine I apologize.
Yet, it is the format to which I am most accustomed, and so I bid you to have tolerance for my little quirks of nature.
I ramble, this I can not deny, but it is all part of the story.
The edge of the clouds that hang on blue skies could bring notes of hope to a symphony played in a park.
The shadow of a man who ascends stairs in a house not his own could draw out the darkness to which holds him that night.
Details, random, or even symbolism, are but some of the knives we can use to carve stories from the raw block of wood that is the English language.
Will every etching of mine be accurate?
No, for none of us can claim the flawless nature of perfection, but be warned as well that 'leet speak' or the like finds little interest or understanding on this side of the screen.
In such a manner will rudeness also not be tolerated.
Everyone deserves respect, and that goes for myself as well.
Bah, there I go again sounding like an old man with a stick and a yard to protect, again for what flaws lay clear I apologize.
Darker stories are what draws me at times.
Monsters shaped as men, or even more horrific forms.
Light stories are what draws me at times.
Dragons learning what it is to holding wings above clouds and gulping the thinner air of atmosphere high.
Madness is what draws me at times.
Endless black, so deep that even the promise of a star in the sky was left unheard, but it was not empty. No, it was out there... breathing.
Mysteries are what draws me at times.
That text, that single sentence that seemed so out of place, 'I miss you'. A frown settled before thumbs went to work on the reply of 'Who is this?'
Stories Dear Reader...
Stories are always what draws me.
Need they be of light or shadows.
Need they be of dancing or murder.
Stories Dear Reader.
For No Purpose but this...
To invite you into one of the worlds to which my clumsy and scarred hands have put together.
For No Purpose but this...
To see how a single brush of a set of fingertips on a keyboard, a world away, can change these dreams.
There are stories kept
We have this in common Dear Reader,
and that is why you find me on the other side of your screen.
I am here to dip letters into the vibrant inks of imagination.
I am here to draw distant lines of horizons, shade in mountain apertures, and fill oceans in with aquatic blues.
I am here to give birth to monsters, heroes, and dreams yet to be told.
I am here to For No Purpose but to write Dear Reader.
Yet, this goal can be accomplished alone can it not?
Black little letters placed upon so many faces of white pages.
Yes, this goal can be accomplished alone.
So, then why?
Why here?
Why on the other side of the screen?
Why even so much as a single post?
The answer is simple really.
You Dear Reader.
Because with a single sentence you can change the arc of a story so well imagined.
Because with a single idea, oceans can turn purple, green, or gold.
Because with a single breath, roses can bloom where only stone wall stood before.
For No Purpose but this do you find me here Dear Reader, and though my name will ring hollow to your memory...
It is a pleasure to meet you.
My name is James.
I have been told, by more than one, that I am long winded, and for this vice of mine I apologize.
Yet, it is the format to which I am most accustomed, and so I bid you to have tolerance for my little quirks of nature.
I ramble, this I can not deny, but it is all part of the story.
The edge of the clouds that hang on blue skies could bring notes of hope to a symphony played in a park.
The shadow of a man who ascends stairs in a house not his own could draw out the darkness to which holds him that night.
Details, random, or even symbolism, are but some of the knives we can use to carve stories from the raw block of wood that is the English language.
Will every etching of mine be accurate?
No, for none of us can claim the flawless nature of perfection, but be warned as well that 'leet speak' or the like finds little interest or understanding on this side of the screen.
In such a manner will rudeness also not be tolerated.
Everyone deserves respect, and that goes for myself as well.
Bah, there I go again sounding like an old man with a stick and a yard to protect, again for what flaws lay clear I apologize.
Darker stories are what draws me at times.
Monsters shaped as men, or even more horrific forms.
Light stories are what draws me at times.
Dragons learning what it is to holding wings above clouds and gulping the thinner air of atmosphere high.
Ma
Endless black, so deep that even the promise of a star in the sky was left unheard, but it was not empty. No, it was out there... breathing.
Mysteries are what draws me at times.
That text, that single sentence that seemed so out of place, 'I miss you'. A frown settled before thumbs went to work on the reply of 'Who is this?'
Stories Dear Reader...
Stories are always what draws me.
Need they be of light or shadows.
Need they be of dancing or murder.
Stories Dear Reader.
For No Purpose but this...
To invite you into one of the worlds to which my clumsy and scarred hands have put together.
For No Purpose but this...
To see how a single brush of a set of fingertips on a keyboard, a world away, can change these dreams.
So, may I have this dance Dear Reader?
James
James
