More by Vladislas Nikilovic
Writers…born not in the Halls of Education…but in the fires of necessity. Masters not of prose, form, language, or a perceived command of the Art. The scream, the release, the venting, the exquisite song, becomes, the Art, the Dance, the Symphony. A drive, to unburden, release, free…the screams that torment, them, you, and me. Write to live, live to write,…
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Vladislas Nikilovic