i heart words. 

i do. i really do. 

when others use them well, it inspires me to want to use them well. it's a truly wondrous cycle.

whether on a page in black & white, or underscored by the music they inspired, the effect on me has always been the same–people who can write drive me to want to write. to create more, and to consume more. to know myself and my experiences well enough to have the faith to venture out into the uncertainty of ultimately standing alongside and behind your own words.  to be able to put something out into the world of my creation, that someone, somewhere, someplace might one day stumble upon and feel just as i did that same very moment way back when, that i set those words free.

words have had a remarkable way of being able to stir things in me i didn't know existed. to drive me to action. and to stop me in my tracks. to help me see. and to help me unsee.  to help me grasp the futility of hopelessness, and the hopelessness of futility. i admire those, who when tasked with putting pen to paper, seemed to know exactly which words to pick and exactly which ones to let go.  

people have faulted me over the years for speaking + writing in riddles.  in school teachers praised them, and pushed me to develop my own way with words.  in the working world, managers loathed them and pushed me to adopt their's. i grew to resent my own riddles, and drawn to those of other's.  write. more. like. them. return to convention. why did i pick those words anyways? why did i put those ones next to those ones anyways? 'hmm...fuck...unsure...it was a feeling really?'  (or maybe i was just trying to entertain myself thru all the monotony, and free my soul from under the weight of my inbox.) 

but one thing i know to be true–the more i write, the less i question. the less i write, the more i question. 

what follows is me questioning less, and writing more.  (riddles, as they may well damn be.)   

03.17.17–

03.15.18–

03.13.18–

© kyle w. gray, 2017