Feelings above the soul line

I am a man who writes, expresses, and challenges my words, praises them, and shapes them as a blacksmith shapes the Damascus sword, so the texts form on my papers as I desire. Ideas resist me, images revolt against me, and lines oppose me, but I am not one who weakens halfway through. So I attack them with a smile of pride on my face. A smile of pride? No, rather a smile of arrogance, throwing my pen like a spear, striking my papers and notes, placing what I want how I want. Sometimes I make those lines laugh and rejoice, and sometimes I make them moan as if the wounded in wars, overwhelmed by pain. And sometimes I make them confused, not knowing whether this idea makes me happy or sad; whether I have watered it from the fountain of life or poured upon it the flames of imagination. So, my reader, do not be surprised by my use of excessive force to tame these lines and impose my authority over them, for these lines are rebellious, and when they sense your weakness in authority over them, they will no longer be able to be led again.