Word Search Puzzles On Sympathy

Chapter 7 (Part II, 12:00)

" Dear writer of a major publishing house, I'm your admirer. You could define a very jealous person. You know, I admire the writers really good, but to you only feel a fierce envy. Because you are not good, capable, and nor have the talent.

let's face it all: you posted because you made some friends.

I know you're thinking that I can choose not to read.

So you're thinking I'm a fool.

I know you're thinking that's not my business

But here is where you're wrong, because throughout the whole thing is my deal.

you, you and your buddies, you have polluted the literature, and killed the dreams and hopes of aspirants like me who put their heads and study, and not as you say, the heart.

you, you and your buddies, you helped to create a system in which the publication is a sort of divine concession to his acolytes by bosses and barons.

you, you and your buddies, you are allowed beyond friendship and the law of the market there are no other selection criteria.

Thanks to you, the Cartesian coordinates of this system can only be paraculaggine values. Meritocracy, the quality can only be considered if it falls within the two criteria mentioned above.

Now, we know, you and I, who not only your writing, you and your buddies , is sloppy, boring, meaningless, silly, dog shit, but is also a writing that kills the thought, imagination. It's a style that tries to atrophy the brain and mind. To interrupt the work of the synapse. To create links between different areas of the mind.

you, you and your buddies, tell summarizing, generalizing, rivers of words which preclude the use of sight. You, you and your buddies, you know only conceptualize. But a concept that has no form is invisible and empty.

Now, we know, you and I, that the stakes do not play on the "show, do not tell," I'm not one of those idiots following a poor demented Mrs. Luana in her, let's call it, crusade. I'm not one of those idiots in search of relief.

I'm not one of those idiots looking for a community that gives meaning to my existence.

I am one of those to whom they were shown endless possibilities.

I am one of those who have been promised the keys to the future.

I am one of those who have been leading a life foretold.

Instead, today, after numerous attempts, I find myself living and passively yours, you and your friends both repulsive stories, your grudge and insolence.

Well, Mr. author of a major publishing house I found a solution to the problem.

I and my cronies (four very different from those poor fools who follow the Luana, whose only aspiration is to teach them to write) we found the final solution.

'll get the eyes, cutting off the hands, and will reduce the brain to a pulp. To you and your buddies.

So, for fun. A small reward for these years so terribly boring.

Sincerely, a fan of his.