Word du jour: emacity

I've always wondered why this word is extremely similar with emaciated, which represents the complete opposite side of the spectrum. Here's the lexicon.

Of course everyone knows that the word emaciated means extremely weakened or thin, which probably stemmed from not spending money. Yeah, English is kinda weird.

This is a belated blog post, which was supposed to be published yesterday. Unfortunately, I was out camping. Yeah summah.

Writer's block

You see, I'm a Scorpio. Just like Picasso or da Vinci, I never finish most of the work I start, just like this blog.

I once dreamt that I would be rich and famous, at least in the blogosphere. So the First Movement has begun. It was supposed to be a dramatic entrada, the first wave of a raging surge of emotions and feeling expressed and captured in free-flowing lines of prose.

But then things changed. Just like the tides, my literary excursions ebbed into the deepest confines of my mind. I was once again trapped, lost in words wanting to come out but couldn't be expressed. I always have a concept blossoming somewhere in my mind, but when I face the intimidation brought by the blinking cursor in front of me, my mind ends up at a loss for words. A loss for words! How excruciatingly forlorn!

My life's work distanced me from the thing I like most, writing. Translating my unknown thoughts into known patterns, combinations of glyphs that invoke a common definition to people who recognize it. And being the writer I am, I go as far as extending the mere common word into something more provocative, more daring, more passionate. I like using big words, the way they slush, swirl, and hang around, waiting to be used, waiting to be proof of impeccable eloquence in the language.

I keep a journal. Used to, but then people mocked me. They mocked my notebook, my ability to translate hidden thoughts into spoken words, to express the world as I perceive it, as I feel it. They don't want me to express myself, about how I see the world through my dismal, despicable eyes. I thought that was how the world works; they're satisfied living in their memory, of putting their thoughts in their mind, never getting out, never getting expressed.

I may have some things that I have to keep to myself, but my writing must not falter. I must continue to write, on and on, until all words have faded out of existence, until my mind stops, until my soul wavers. Not unless I am dead shall I stop using big words. The world is my viewpoint, and my mind is the blueprint. A blueprint to build, not a physical entity, but a personalized account of my own existence, a narrative of my being. With my mind as a blueprint and the power of words as my medium, I shall create a world, a world made entirely out of my own view, the real world as I see it through my eyes.

I am a writer, a builder of worlds, the master of linguistic expression. Forsooth, I am a writer. I have the power to distort or enhance a person's world view. I can bring forth harmonic truth or chaotic lies. I am a writer. And the world is my viewpoint.