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Write Like I Think

Monday, September 26, 2011, 11:44 pm

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?

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Midnight Gibberish

Saturday, September 3, 2011, 2:18 am

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.