this may have been better if i’d instead tried to write poetry
Sometimes before I can write I have to wait for a while for something to happen. Something to inspire me. Something to reawaken my desire to put words on a page and allow others to wander about them. And I’ve been waiting now for some time, and that crystallizing event has yet to occur.
In such a situation as this, I’m aware that there is not an ending in sight. There is not an aim or a goal to this discourse. It is without design or ambition. Unlike many of my dealings.
I was going to write a letter, one to a dear friend who had not long ago written to me, but I’m afraid an open letter may not be the best course of action. I’m not quite sure how to know when an open letter would be appropriate. Our conversations often provoke me to thought, fantastic thoughts. The kinds I only hope to read about in great books. How could I not want to share those with others? And yet, they’re fiercely personal. To tell you of them would be to reveal a great deal about myself. Things I didn’t even know until recently. Have you tried to write about something like that? Something so big you’re still trying to wrap your mind about it? Something that’s so profound that you’re still trying to figure out all of its implications? I’m not very comfortable taking such ideas public.
I would like to explain about my broken tooth, but I should wait until there’s more to say on the matter. For now, it hurts, and will need to be fixed soon.
I considered writing in a way as to use words inappropriately but smartly enough that the intent would be preserved. But my mind doesn’t do that naturally, and it would take a lot of time. Instead, my mind works with slashes and dashes and parentheses. It works with hooks and strings. It works with symbols and allegories. It works with double meanings and rhyme schemes and misspellings. Not misspellings for the sake of trying out something that’s wrong, but rather using them to suggest alternative interpretations. Sometimes I misuse syntax the same way.
In my mind, this always seems like a great way for flirting. Cute and clever all at once. Somehow this is rarely ever well received. What typically happens is that I become very pleased with myself, the other person becomes confused (both at my words and subsequent behavior), and (if I’m lucky) the interaction ends shortly thereafter.
OK, next time I’ll choose a topic. Something to hold it all together. That way there’s a trail to return to. When it’s like this, I feel like I’m traipsing around a meadow, sitting down from time to time but ultimately wondering what I’m doing here in the first place.