the only real analogy i can give lizzy is this.
how did we learn to read, and how did we learn to write
did we just pick up a pencil and or book. or did someone show us how to spell our name, how to spell the street where we live?
did some one read out first words for us, show us that ball is b,a,l,l?
and what did we do when we'd learned to write, did we just write our name and address or did we fly and write stories with our own words.
when we'd learned to read, did we just read about John and Mary and a blue ball? or did we rediscover the world, sometimes with our own words and imagination. if we did how was it done, where did we get the imagination to have our own journeys.
we often got it from the likes of Jules Verne, pippy longstocking, Shelly and Arthur Conan Doyle. we used their words to make our own poetry. all I've ever written, all I've ever loved in words has been stolen, garnered or borrowed from others and written with my own imagination. their words help me fly by my own wing beat. to refuse to use or amend what they shared would be to crawl instead of walk, to run instead of fly.
seldom are words new, it's only the manipulation of words that say something different. all we have to do is manipulate what we read, see, feel and know.
how did we learn to read, and how did we learn to write
did we just pick up a pencil and or book. or did someone show us how to spell our name, how to spell the street where we live?
did some one read out first words for us, show us that ball is b,a,l,l?
and what did we do when we'd learned to write, did we just write our name and address or did we fly and write stories with our own words.
when we'd learned to read, did we just read about John and Mary and a blue ball? or did we rediscover the world, sometimes with our own words and imagination. if we did how was it done, where did we get the imagination to have our own journeys.
we often got it from the likes of Jules Verne, pippy longstocking, Shelly and Arthur Conan Doyle. we used their words to make our own poetry. all I've ever written, all I've ever loved in words has been stolen, garnered or borrowed from others and written with my own imagination. their words help me fly by my own wing beat. to refuse to use or amend what they shared would be to crawl instead of walk, to run instead of fly.
seldom are words new, it's only the manipulation of words that say something different. all we have to do is manipulate what we read, see, feel and know.