I still can't shake the shadow that hung over my head for a long while when I wrote. It used to define everything I was and everything I thought. What I liked, I would ask myself "would my overseer like that too?" What ever I wrote I would find myself wondering if it would be taken at face value or analysed and de-constructed by my dark companion until what ever I wrote became twisted and mutated into something completely different then what I meant.
When I would protest such literary tyranny my shadow would just say that that was what I had meant to say subconsciously. That deep down I felt different then what I wrote. That I had hidden thoughts and undercurrents that shaped my writing.
Suddenly what I knew I was would be challenged by what my ethereal companion said I was.
And I would become yet again entrapped by her will. By what she told me I was trying to be, trying to say, trying to become.
I still haven't decided who I am. I cannot remember who I wanted to be before her.
When I would protest such literary tyranny my shadow would just say that that was what I had meant to say subconsciously. That deep down I felt different then what I wrote. That I had hidden thoughts and undercurrents that shaped my writing.
Suddenly what I knew I was would be challenged by what my ethereal companion said I was.
And I would become yet again entrapped by her will. By what she told me I was trying to be, trying to say, trying to become.
I still haven't decided who I am. I cannot remember who I wanted to be before her.
