Warm-ups for Writing

Below is a few warm up paragraphs I write before I write a story or and essay. I just write the first words that come to my head. When I warm up like this, my writing is significantly better. You do not have to read it if you don't want to because it's just a bunch of nonsense. I'm just throwing this out there.

There was a time that t’would tell of a teacher whose life and love grew passionately upon the brow of my sentimental heart. As for me I cannot say he was entire hopeless, but indeed he was a bit foppish. T’would seem I’ve been listening to the Scarlet Pimpernel as I am writing in such a manner. Indeed I cannot pretense for the manner of writing essays required at this present moment. T’would seem impossible. I must write about an teacher of influence upon, but t’would seem unreliable as I am but writing any words that slip into my mind. At present moment I cannot recall where any of these should but come from much less where they go. One would think that my life is easy, but it is not so. Poetry is an art and life is a small part of it. As any dramatican would conclude in my own opinion for pleasing it was would readily say anything for the pleasant manner which surrounded him. ‘Tis not impossible as it was said above to write but a simple essay on a teacher, the problematic nature of it all comes from the style need. Impersonation is one of my finest qualities in life, but it would not appear to be so in my essays. As my sentimental values I reprimand there is a small orchard among friends. Nonsense is said and lies are but becoming of light. I’faith that there should be condemned homework on this accursed continent at all. No indeed, there should not be. ‘Tis true I rant and rave with these sentimental values which I hold, it would not be true if I were to be writing sense, is it not so? I trust all is well and take much for granted as I stroll along the keyboard letting out the depths of my very soul. It would not needs be that homework should be liberated upon our backs so as we trudge along with beads of sweat upon our brows. Why follow those rules given by any personage? It would seem only God has command, and that one should not command another whilst upon the planet created for us. Such unsentimental values should lead to laments of sonnets. I prithee that you should’st fly, fly to the stars as those before you. Can you not imagine it so? Does not seem possible no? Indeed the dull processes leading up to the execution of my laments would but arrive soon had it been that th e mother figure should approach. T’would not seem possible but for her. The pretense of these words seem to arrive spurnfully from my listening the my novels. The Scarlet Pimpernel is a delightful blend of such language as used above. can it not be a wonderful way towards happiness? The attention of ears to such promising words can lead to such words as written here. Zounds if there not be an acursed living organism who would not understand my reasons for such idionicy of raspered ways of my inventious words. No, no, t’would not seem so. As I must be a’writing about a teacher, I cannot say that it may turn out in such language as required for an education. No indeed, all reliable witnesses are far from me and praise thy lord not. La! ‘Tis not so easy! It must needs be. Can you not imagine such hopes and dreams to be shattered by such a long line of lines to reel you in? What ho! No it would not seem to be, would it? All philosophies from the four corners of the earth must stand as witnesses against these foolish traditions against an essay such as this. I laugh heartily and pity the fool who should take life in general in all seriousness. Rebellious I may be, but foppish I should not seem to be. Alas I should not!! No indeed. Were there but seven and twenty to take me away thou canst not. I in turn cannot think far past my own sufferings and afflictions. As these words which are written are thumbprints of my laments. What means this love? For he that I love cannot be near as there is none that I love. Such bodacious augments should ne’er be heard. To fail in life is as losing one’s head. To be cut off and drowned from all hypocrisy. I shall count the days of yore when I was once an author of greatness and love of life. I’faith I suspect that’s the reason for this sudden change of heart that has been of late. In consolation to my over-bearings of the mind I must conclude my wistful rave.

Where art thou dog? wherefore art a rose of mine own singing. Canst there not be a peace of mind? Tis not so. Who then can save the dragon of spells in the air t’would not be so how is there no money in the bank? a bleak stress of aggravation would seem inevitable. complicated streams of light withered through her mind. Can you not see the true form of the universe? Leaping and bouncing in the air of joy there is none other better than the mighty one of silver and gold. Violet stripes of linen spiral down to the grassy earth. Indeed, where should they travel afar? Tis impossible said she. Let us gallop into the wind. The heat of the sun on my back gave me the courage to ride against the sheer shame writhing up from the very depths of my soul. can you not see the beauty of charcoal in the eyes of a man in need the quarter of the moon shone brightly without. Who dares to cross the king of shine on in faith. Love the game of spirit. A lowly pit gauged its way in her stomach crawling up her throat. Like a spider skillfully weaves its web through storm and grief. A bed and a lamp is the only sign of life on the deserted planet of cans. Hanging from the wall was a deep purple scarf of sheer design. I cannot imagine a more promising and condemning time than the events which are about to unfold. Let boredom not overcome all other desires of your lonely heart. Deep within the grave sight of grumbles, you cannot imagine the pain of the worms. Where indeed could one as enormous as thou art sing for the life of him? A feathery sword of capable hands swung mightily through the trees. The short cancerous bit of caked mud seeped through her fingers. Hunted, feared, and unbearable. The yellow-orange breakfast of night swept under the bridge at such a pace that the heavens fell. To speak is to open one’s mouth and babble to the point of babbling and no return. Where the wild ones roam free of all rules and restriction. Shameful ways of the kingdom. He didn’t know what movie we were doing, but therefore she answer him without a notion of gerald crossing.

If there were sunflowers in the trees would the water of time be inside the fruits? Can there not be a fly of golly good babes if there is any ape of manly cantaloupe. where the bees walk and the grass hops the food is scarce. in all manner of alameda there can be heavenly hopes of joyful shopping. Chips of green flavor in sandy beaches there is red t-shirts. i don’t know is part of getting through the floundering ways of the gymnast. i’ve let go the need to know the whales’ wires. a bird could follow the sky if they fly the teacher’s lounge. a sombrero could perhaps be but a small step in time. cats from jupiter wear caps of purple spotting heads. smarts deeds forgotten can read the minds of great grandfather. Where the bee’s knees of windy city is mighty dog tired pretty. food processors presents the grand apple of grapes in the very tight yodel. angels we have heard on high sweetly singing. can we see the eyes yellow that boy. beans and cheese on a spree.