This Other Life (Continuing a Continue)

Inconclusion, I type. To drown out the sound of drums every time I make a witty. But really, typing to a beat gives rise to a different brand of writing for me. Whereas I liked sounds and visuals (mostly visuals), to type to a beat is…musical…I’m no song-writer but it’s a type of genre I have as yet to accomplish so I could at least have experience in it even if I’m not good. I don’t have to be perfect at everything -but I try…maybe. There’s no trying only doing.

And everything exists and so I’m not really stealing any ideas when I write. That is until someone through nitpicking or sheer spite finds evidence of plagiarism in which case: slow clap, congratulations you have no other purpose in life than to make others miserable. Sure, it’s a purpose but it’s not that difficult to aspire to, no? I should’ve also used ‘purloining’ instead of stealing because I like that word even if it’s a slightly different context. Purloin sounds more food-related and ‘pur’ is simply pleasing. Lackadaisical is still my favorite word -nothing I’ve learned before or since has knocked it from my number one spot.

Thus I digress. Because writing is as burdensome as it is freeing. No matter what you know about yourself, you always learn more. Especially since others read into what you write what’s not there and tell you about yourself that they have it in their minds to believe even when you point out it’s not true. ‘Oh, but it MUST be true -from your subconscious, and you’re just denying it.’ Everyone’s a psychologist especially once they acquire the words: conscious, subconscious, id, ego and super id. They need to learn the word unconscious and stay there -my fist is more than happy to oblige. But I don’t. Because my lower body strength is more effective in this regard. I mean, I don’t condone violence. Or some moral answer like that.

I write. Because I say all the right things even if in an angular way. It makes sense the first time you read and cursorily think about. Without context (because I never give such a thing) you can obliquely infer thus broadening your process of thinking. Only those who fear not an unconventional way of tackling a mundane task such as stream of conscious even consider my blatherings to be wisdom at all. Wisdom may be hidden throughout, but I still am jealous to casting my emeralds before turkeys. Turkeys, obviously because they’re dumb. I couldn’t actually think of anything else in the chill of the second (*a shame. Result of the educational system).

To undo the harms inflicted upon me (by that educational system; shame) I write. But not letters, oh no -that’s too involved, of course. But speaking of letters, I miss receiving them in the mail. Emails aren’t so special (*extraordinary). Receiving too many (*especially spam) and so quickly (*immediately) takes away from the joy of expectation and anticipation and anthrax. At least waiting for physical mail is less likely to crash your whole house. Unless it’s a bomb. Unless you crossed an ass-face, you’re less likely to encounter such dangers or inconveniences (*loss of life can be rather inconvenient). I have enough fun protecting myself from viruses in real life; no need to add to that excitement with technological ones. I tangent. Because I like verbalizing nouns. 

Writing -as a whole, it makes no sense. Taken apart and broken down you make it make sense. That’s the beauty of the abstract.

You’re welcome. 

I love writing. I hate writing. I loathe to love writing but I despise speaking even more. Even though I speak often now, too. More of necessity than enjoyment. Is there anything to 'enjoy' when it comes to socially interacting? No. Not when it comes to realistically sharing abstraction. I can enjoy dining ; competing ; can enjoy playing games with but when it comes to being and sharing my authentic self -socializing becomes the trial unnecessary. 

So I object. Because legalizing words somehow makes them more legitimate?? Really, tuck formalities -I shall be who I am, when I am, how I am.

And I write. Because as I am, sometimes…just sometimes is as we are and learning to be me without losing me with everyone without making them lose themselves is the intricate dance we are born into as a social contract whether or not we agreed to it or even can un-agree to it as adults (or imitation older, bigger sized humans as is too often the case with certain mind-frames).