Leftovers - Macdonald, John H.
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My name is John H. Macdonald. Previously, I have had several books published, primarily poetry. This to me, is a universal format for expression, because ten individuals can read the same piece, and you could get ten different reactions. The use of words in any situation can be complicated, fulfilling, and ultimately necessary. Communication, in any form, is the missing piece for humanity to coexist, and continue to grow. I am no expert, but in my own smaller version, find myself in search of a lucid, and revealing reaction. Violence is worthless. It accomplishes nothing worthwhile, only the…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
My name is John H. Macdonald. Previously, I have had several books published, primarily poetry. This to me, is a universal format for expression, because ten individuals can read the same piece, and you could get ten different reactions. The use of words in any situation can be complicated, fulfilling, and ultimately necessary. Communication, in any form, is the missing piece for humanity to coexist, and continue to grow. I am no expert, but in my own smaller version, find myself in search of a lucid, and revealing reaction. Violence is worthless. It accomplishes nothing worthwhile, only the destruction of individuals homes, their neighborhoods, and their lives. Better to take the time to read, to laugh, to enjoy talking to your friends. Because, if we don't, then humanity will soon disappear, and books, knowledge, and history itself will be a thing of the past. I have written other books and with everyone I have said, this is it. What else can I write about? Such foolishness, there is always something new to write about. The weather changes, you meet someone new, you watch the clouds and count the stars. You feel the rain and hear the thunder and you realize how small and indifferent you are. Sleep itself seems to be an impossibility because my mind never rests. This morning, I was about to go to work, but then I paused, an idea, beginning with a phrase I had to write down. All day long, I couldn't wait to return and put some substance into a simple phrase, and that is how it works with me. I'm like a stranger, walking through a cloud bank, hoping to see the morning sun come burning through the atmosphere and it does and another piece is written.
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