Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Let me pinch my fingers together and desperately try to push something to the surface. As sentences and thought become more and more divided and fragmented you begin to dissect yourself and who you are. The pieces of paper with words written on them signifying who you are, a mother or artist a carpenter maybe or a just happy person. pour your mind on the table and examine it, are the different parts of you as attached as you hoped they would be. Are you a collection. How do you set down the collection of traited that signifys your personallity. Society seems to glorify those who can maintain the illusion of organization. Only when these people prove them selves to be common in their fears do we take particular interest in them. So many times while im writting i just want to erase everything like there is a standard im not adhearing to with my creativity. Like there are guidelines I should follow regarding making sense or constructing coherent sentences that come to some sort of point. I just want to hold a magnifying glass to the boiling well of nonsence and stand as an observer of chaos and admire it for its freedom.