Dear diary, not!

I reached a point of observation, on top of the lighthouse I saw with the aid of the ramp light a common scene, the sea. I saw millions of sparkles in its water, all very amazing in varying degrees, yet I saw a struggle there too, namely, the need for uniqueness.

Half of what of I written has been modified by the WP, am I being too complacent in allowing the WP to dictate to me what’s right or what’s wrong?

As a writer, if any cuneiform of writing makes me a writer, then I shall be one, in accord to the fact that I am writing, there isn’t much left to indulge our heads. The writing system is exhausted, a well dried out. Nothing is new under the sun sayeth the book of Ecclesiastes yet we tinker along. I fear though we seek in vain. No new forms of writing within our present writing system is allowed, we have stretched it out to its limit. The letter is dead!