you know we spend so much time saying we wrote stuff out of bullshit and that we just puked out the words at the last minute that we forget to stop and look and maybe we do have important things to say, covered under the guise of downplaying what we have to say or maybe a tinge under the illusion of being modest and humble
and so what even constitutes as something that mean Something. i feel like things written with intentions for it to be successful never become so. do you think those famous writers and poets wrote what they wrote because they knew it’d be famous or wanted it to be or were they just equivalents of pocket change from their brains that they decided to write down. sometimes i think pocket change often mean more than intentional writing. not forced, no fantasies of what it could be. just pure thoughts. whatever these synapses decide to churn out and regurgitate.
side note, i’ve noticed that many of my philosophical thoughts start with the phrase “do you think,” or just open-ended words that mean to be exchanged with another person or persons. i haven’t yet revealed many of it but i hope i get more chances to. i think i’d be able to find out a lot.
and so if the “load of bullshit” we claim to have written for a class, or whatever, turn out to be good -- what can come out of intentioned writing. i don’t find that very many good thoughts come out when i sit down and try and write. squeeze out letters and words and sentences out of my brain until it’s wringed out completely. it’s been empty since i started squeezing it. spontaneity becomes something so important, now that i’ve stopped to look at my writing patterns. just like right now. i’ve planned to write this paper for class for days, now -- and my brain just decides to write an introspective essay about its own inner-workings. crazy how our minds do that.Â
half-composed sentences that come at sporadic times, i’m thankful to have my phone to record them. i don’t even know what will even come out of them other than for my purpose of seeing my personal growth in the way that i value words, the way that i think, the way that i think life works. i realized that i don’t know much at all about philosophy. i also realized that i don’t like labeled ideologies to live. why should i need to know what My philosophy is? i know that identity may be something that some people find important to be able to navigate the world and themselves. i find it appealing to be just whatever the fuck i am -- floating, unconstrained, whatever the fuck else.Â
i’m going to listen to some bad rap and try to write an interesting paper now. i hope my perceptions to life’s detail can be exploitable enough to gain me an A for the purpose of my ego -- sweet, fragile honors student ego.
