I really am a very easily amused person. I enjoy putting words and sentences together- they’re even more magical than paint and colors. I enjoy trying to make them not make sense to anyone but me- or at least, I enjoy trying to put them together according to the colors and styles of my whims and fancies rather than try to be as clear as possible for everyone else. There is never a post here that means what it appears to mean, there are always hidden messages lingering between the lines- sometimes meant for specific people, othertimes meant for the smart.
Othertimes, I just write as if some little faery threw a bagful of pixiedust over my words, which are usually overflowing with phalsapheh, compiled of words that don’t really match together, and tailored with red beads and sprays of shimmer, soaking my words with overdecorative attachments- sparkle, sparkle.
Oh. My. God. I just realized that my writing style would be best classified as surrealism. Surrealism!
Dude, I hate surrealism. In the world of visual arts, I love what to me is the opposite of surrealism, which is too ungrounded as far as I’m concerned- I love minimalism, pop art, and modernism. I love simplicity, solid space, and grids.
It’s quite funny now that I think about it. The artists of the Arabian Gulf are famous for surrealism, and the art critics claim that this is the case due to the general opression in the Arabian Gulf. So I guess my highschool is to blame for my surrealistic writing style, because as I’ve said before, the only remotely creative class we had was English, which I soaked with my neglected and quite oppressed juices of creativity. And my very wishy-washy style of writing stuck with me, sometimes making me laugh.