How to create a piece of writing that is both thought provoking and largely unnecessary:

Posted: December 5, 2010 in real life, writing
Tags: , , ,

[The first sentence is obscured by pen beyond being readable, and as such, we are unable to produce the actual aim of this writing.}

You cannot create something from nothing. It has happened once, for reasons unbeknownst to men, and will never again. That is the fate of the universe, if it can be called that. That’s just how it is.

Writing is akin to forging your thoughts, feelings, and if it is any good, you. You cannot forge that which does not exist in any other form, just like a sword that had once been a simple metal. Thoughts, happenings, and even just the simple act of living may give birth to something elegant, a piece of writing that is, without doubt, you. It is what is carved out of the jungle of inconceivable thoughts, put into words only.

I can never gather my thoughts about anything (recently read books, imminent questions) without first putting it into words, in the means of writing. Perhaps that is the reason why I am writing this in the first place, this being a question of no apparent importance and probably to be answered later in this writing. It will be inevitable since it is the nature of thought to crave for what is unknown, the unknown at this time being the reason to this random selection of words.

Is it a failure to think that you cannot even think without first writing about it? Does that sentence even makes sense? Makes a pretty much failure of a human being, who is ubiquitously known for his social needs, I’d say. I know I continue to prove this day by day, during my interactions with other human beings. A shame, that. Nothing to be done about it, seeing I’m still writing just to get my brain straight.

Nonetheless I can feel the emotions a human being feels and if I cannot even experience the rather abundant emotion of love at the moment, I find consolidation in which I can produce an emotion so solemnly warm as love while writing, experiencing its effects on writing without even bothering to experience it firsthand.

Writing is a lonely experience, being a writer, probably more so. If one aspires to be a writer, does one consciously aim to have a lonely heart, to think by his head alone whilst the society operates in groups of two or more? The current basis of this society lies in couples, or rather, groups of two or more. Can one ever be such a simpleton to try to defy a behemoth, created by the collective consciousness of many, including the writer himself? With the hope of victory slim, if even existant, is it even wise to attempt it? Does the fact that hundreds of thousands attempt it a proof otherwise? A man can only guess. This one likes to think the entirety of the writing community is a gather of masochists who seeks to fulfill their desires by the use of a form of conversation named writing.

A form of conversation, is it? Maybe not necessarily a conversation with others, since it would be unwise to consider it for an actual means of having a discussion, the direct talk being the rather easier and universally accepted way. No, it is a means of conversing with your brain, an act that sounds ridiculous at best. No matter the image, the actuality remains that one just cannot hold a decent enough conversation with one’s brain to answer the key questions one has to ask to oneself, who actually am I? What is my purpose here? Why would a concept like right or wrong matter?

Now, if only anybody has tried to think this through, you must ask your brain these questions, and it has to answer you for you to know the answer of it. Only, it doesn’t. Rather stupid of him, but it needs a means of projecting what you need through mediums other than thought itself. Thoughts get distracted easily, appear and disappear as they wish, and are largely unreliable. Writing is just another form of your brain trying to communicate some sense into yourself. More often than not it will be a random clutter of words, unidentifiable in their meanings, but the single hope is that once the clutter of words are complete, it will provide a message to you, that which your brain had been wanting to make you understand all along.

I conclude this writing session as I have run out of paper and can’t be arsed to — [the writer trails off at this point, most probably having run out of paper on a trip and unable to continue it later as the thoughts have already evaporated from the mind.]

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