Posts tagged with "writing"

Certain Uncertainty

I was sort­ing through my e‑mail today, try­ing to clean up my inbox, when I stum­bled along a stash that threw me off guard. I did­n’t think that they would affect me in any way, but they did. I did­n’t even read them; the titles just threw me.

Without these titles, these scant few words, I’m fine, and I under­stand the way things are, and the way things have worked out. Everything is log­i­cal to me, and my mind func­tions as nor­mal. But when I see these words, my mind floods with mem­o­ries, thoughts, emo­tions. I get a glimpse of what could have been.

And then I real­ize that it’s just a sliv­er of a cross-sec­tion that takes almost noth­ing of the whole sit­u­a­tion into account. Or do I? Otherwise, I would be able to stop think­ing about it, and I could just let it rest.

And yet I can’t. The good thing is that it’s not an attempt at con­vinc­ing myself of what I would like to believe. I can be pret­ty sure about this, one of the few things in a world where I might be dream­ing.

Many times it’s not know­ing that I’m right that counts, it’s the oth­er per­son know­ing that they’re wrong.

I wish I was­n’t like this at all. But I am. There has been only one time that I did­n’t feel like I need­ed anoth­er par­ty to know that I was right. And it was because the truth was so obvi­ous­ly on my side, that argu­ing about it would have been triv­ial.

Writing about this has helped. I real­ize that any­thing, pic­tures; text; or just thoughts; can bring up ideas unpro­voked. The ideas may be good or bad, but they are one’s own. The under­stand­ing that they are just super­fi­cial ideas is the most impor­tant part. It’s com­ing to terms with these ideas that sets us free.

I’m pret­ty sure.

What To Expect?

Though the page has­n’t been fin­ished yet, I feel the need to write. What about, I’m not quite sure yet. Things have been chang­ing so much, there has been so lit­tle stag­nan­cy around me, that it will take me quite a while to under­stand what is going on. Another…six months let’s say?

And these thoughts roam in my head, this and that, com­ing back and forth like a mass of dense liq­uid dropped in anoth­er mass of denser liq­uid. I don’t know what I’m see­ing. I don’t know what I’m feel­ing.

I’ve been wait­ing quite a while to do this; I want­ed to get some­thing down the first minute I want­ed to make a page again. The whole time, thoughts just kept com­ing, things that I’d like to write, express, be under­stood. I did­n’t think that I’d know where to start. And I don’t.

But what becomes this need to be heard, to be com­pre­hend­ed, though by a spec­tral audi­ence? Why do I keep turn­ing to this medi­um, though the con­ve­nience is more lim­it­ed than ink and parch­ment?

Perhaps it’s the draw of the machine, the beau­ty of a cus­tom inter­face, the click­ety-clack of the key­board. Or per­haps I’m just weak, and I’m just wait­ing for a chance to be heard. I’d say both cas­es are like­ly, and not mutu­al­ly exclu­sive.

So what can I say? What can I write? Only that I don’t know what to say, or what to write. After all, what bet­ter way to start again? It feels like I’m mov­ing towards the cen­tre of my being, trav­el­ling as the poet through the infer­no, but with­out a guide to the next bol­gia.

I wish I knew.