I'm not a writer. I never was, I'm not one now, and I never will be one.
So that settles it. I'm not a writer, I don't want to be a writer, and I'm not trying to be a writer, never mind how much I like reading; that's a totally separate thing altogether.
But I want to be able to write. Because I need to be able to write in order to give shape and depth to the spontaneous and uncatchable thoughts which are frequently the off-tangent offshoots of normal thoughts.
I need to be able to write to capture some of that, what I call for a lack of a better word, "seed thoughts"; thoughts that may be seeds that have the potential to blossom or grow, possibly into a fruitful apple tree which others will enjoy feeding off, or maybe even grow into a Venus fly trap or a foul-smelling plant, there's really no telling.
But like I said, there's really no telling, as to what may come off of those seed thoughts. Some of them may turn up to be the start of some stupendously brilliant or new project, idea or whatever, who's to say.
I need to be able to write because otherwise I have no way of further developing a body to that seed thought. My mind is so pathetically fleeting and uselessly flimsy and flippant that it can't hold possibilities or potentialities or eventualities, much less hold water. So I need to force, make, train, discipline myself to give form and shape to tentative initials.
I need to write, to face my fears. For the longest time I've always been reluctant to relinquish power, because knowledge is power, in my writings and I don't want people to know me better than I know myself. Funnily, it's this same self-absorption that is preventing me from seeing that people already know what I am and they actually know me more than I know myself. I've been so intent on hiding that I've become less than subtle in my attempts to hide you see. (That's how not to play hide-and-seek.) The irony is that my own actions are causing the very reactions and repercussions that is my greatest fear. Irony? Or maybe more stupidity. Anyway, it's become embarrassingly ludicrous. The only to restore balance is to upset the very apple cart that I'm trying to keep balanced. Don't ask me the rationale behind it at this point of time; I don't know what is the logic, but I just know I need to upset the ridiculous house of cards that I've managed to build. As to what happens next, well we'll see.
I write for the sake of trying to do something I know I cannot do, just because I'm allow to.
I write because I refuse to believe that i cannot write, even if I think I cannot, and others agree too.
I need to write to force myself to do something I don't like doing, because I have to start doing things I don't like doing.
So that settles it. I'm not a writer, I don't want to be a writer, and I'm not trying to be a writer, never mind how much I like reading; that's a totally separate thing altogether.
But I want to be able to write. Because I need to be able to write in order to give shape and depth to the spontaneous and uncatchable thoughts which are frequently the off-tangent offshoots of normal thoughts.
I need to be able to write to capture some of that, what I call for a lack of a better word, "seed thoughts"; thoughts that may be seeds that have the potential to blossom or grow, possibly into a fruitful apple tree which others will enjoy feeding off, or maybe even grow into a Venus fly trap or a foul-smelling plant, there's really no telling.
But like I said, there's really no telling, as to what may come off of those seed thoughts. Some of them may turn up to be the start of some stupendously brilliant or new project, idea or whatever, who's to say.
I need to be able to write because otherwise I have no way of further developing a body to that seed thought. My mind is so pathetically fleeting and uselessly flimsy and flippant that it can't hold possibilities or potentialities or eventualities, much less hold water. So I need to force, make, train, discipline myself to give form and shape to tentative initials.
I need to write, to face my fears. For the longest time I've always been reluctant to relinquish power, because knowledge is power, in my writings and I don't want people to know me better than I know myself. Funnily, it's this same self-absorption that is preventing me from seeing that people already know what I am and they actually know me more than I know myself. I've been so intent on hiding that I've become less than subtle in my attempts to hide you see. (That's how not to play hide-and-seek.) The irony is that my own actions are causing the very reactions and repercussions that is my greatest fear. Irony? Or maybe more stupidity. Anyway, it's become embarrassingly ludicrous. The only to restore balance is to upset the very apple cart that I'm trying to keep balanced. Don't ask me the rationale behind it at this point of time; I don't know what is the logic, but I just know I need to upset the ridiculous house of cards that I've managed to build. As to what happens next, well we'll see.
I write for the sake of trying to do something I know I cannot do, just because I'm allow to.
I write because I refuse to believe that i cannot write, even if I think I cannot, and others agree too.
I need to write to force myself to do something I don't like doing, because I have to start doing things I don't like doing.
I need to write. And I need to stat writing now. Uncensored, uninterrupted, unedited. Uncouth, unsavoury, unleashed.
I need to write. For the sake of staying living and staying alive. For the sake of not cutting myself off at the cusp of something possible, some future, something, anything.
I need to just do something with the only thing which I now know I must do, and can do.
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