Seth tells me to write like I talk. The problem is I talk less than I think. And if I were to write like I talk then I would end up with very little. So I write like I think. And that puts me in shit.

You see I’m a compulsive thinker. I bet it’s nothing special but I’m an expert at this. My thoughts would branch out at the speed of light and before you know it one seed of thought would become volumes of theories in a blink of an eye.

So which do I write down, and why? Because if I were to write them all down, my fingers would break, my keyboard would break, and I’d end up in a mental institution. Even then my mind would still not stop thinking.

But in regard to Seth’s suggestion, I’m trying to single out a thought, and with that, typing it down into legible words. I believe this is what people call writing. I could be wrong, but hey at least I got these words out of my head, didn’t I?

I was never much of a writer. I’ve always been more of a thinker. That is why I’m writing this post now, as a question to myself to owning a personal blog. One that I never update anymore. Not now anyway, not this decade.

I used to think that by writing I could let my thoughts out from it’s hard shelled prison. Then maybe once they’re in writing, I can finally sleep at night. But I was wrong. Not only because I wasn’t able to express what I mean to express, but also because by getting them out in the open I create a hollow of which the mind quickly fills again. So I end up with gibberish again now both in and out of the mind.

Maybe what I need isn’t an outlet. Maybe I simply need an interpreter. Someone (or something) that could bring meaning to my thoughts. A pencil to pull lines to connect the dots.

As a matter of fact, I think I have found that someone, and she’s sleeping next door. This is why I shouldn’t stay up all night thinking anymore. Because when she sleeps, no one connects my dots and I get trapped in my deep thoughts again.

Oh well, the price of years of insomnia, one I have yet to redeem. Let’s just say I had a life before I met her.

Being one with life is being one with NOW. You then realize that you don’t live your life, but life lives you. Life is the dancer, you are the dance.

Everyone lives for something, and seeks the next big whatever in their life. Surfers are always looking for the next wave, while poor people in third world countries beat their bones for their next meal. Business people live for the next deal, and good doctors live to save the next life.

I myself live for the next thrill, I think. Something about that rush in my veins fulfills me.

Either way it’s an addiction and we’re all addicts.

But to top it all, Americans live for the next high. They work hard 5 days a week, sometimes 7, so they can get piss drunk in an alley and make fun of the next president, crippled person, or a philosopher with a new doctrine.

I may be biased, but hey, share a joint, and happy Sunday everyone!

the world i live in has become a vacuum for my mind. be it my computer monitor, my lcd tv, or the iphone screen, almost my entire waking hours have been pulled into the screen. even when i sleep i picture a screen in front of me where my dreams are in play. if you’ve seen wall-e where the fat humans communicate with one another through screens attached to their hover-chairs then you know what i mean.

except i’m not fat.

so i guess there’s hope for me. at least i’d like to think so when i step out there and lie on the beach, or drive my anger into punching bags at the dojo, or down some beers with the little friends i have here. it’s the simple things in life that make us alive.

now for the rest of us…

are we seriously letting our entire being turn into digital bits of data that can be copied, altered and even erased by others? what happened to the substance of our being, what happened to our tangible lives?