As limiting as they may be they limit me to the point where I am hollow and forever waiting inside. However, they are also the method through which I take my ideas and put them out to the world. They are the melody to my music. They are the song through which I sing.
And although I love you, words to the English language. I am in an eternal lament for the moments when you do not fill me up as I wish. When my ideas cannot be recorded because they do not have a subject. When my ideas are only verbs. I hate when I am writing and the idea reaches as a lengthy string of subjects. Adjectives have no meaning when written on a page, even if they are the sunlight needed to fill your soul.
And I hate what the collegiate writing is doing to my soul. A word count serves no purpose but to add filler which isn’t required. Sometimes I think that life is somewhat of a college essay, a narrow, word limited depiction of what a true life should be. An inaccurate depiction of the true possibilities of the human psyche when it is let loose upon the world to wreak havoc as it travels through.
Because death and destruction are what is required for beauty and growth. Nothing else in this world exists. And it can’t. Kill the corn to make the tacos.
I have a feeling that this is who I really am man. A creator and a destroyer. I have a vision but many must die in order to create the reality we live in today. A sort of perfect imperfection that cannot help but see beauty in a Holocaust. Chop down the trees so we can make money with Oxygen tanks. Allow the world to be reusable. The free market only has as much power as we give it. Welcome to the future motherfuckers.
I pass out listening to Lawrence of Arabia. And even though this blog exists, my story will be written by my idiot neighbors.
With all my love,