crap

These days I feel the need to be in constant motion. I feel this need for fluidity in all my actions, I feel the urge to simplify things, actions, feelings, crap I don’t really care about. Amid all my artificiality and of those that surround me, I yearn for that spark of genuineness. And when I see it, in myself, or in others, I feel overcome by gratitude. Towards whom, I don’t know. Even as write this, I am conscious of these urges. It makes me stutter. When you try too hard to simplify, to be genuine, it just gets more complicated, you become a phony. See, this seems too damn fucking contorted already. Rather like a drunk trying too hard to walk in a straight line, but tripping over himself instead. Maybe he is better off staggering along: at least he gets somewhere that way. Maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s better of lying in his own reeking stench until someone shakes him awake. And he can continue the stagger towards his end. And we are like drunks on the road of life, staggering along, waiting for the prod that will keep us going, at the same time dreading it. In our hearts we want to just lie in our own pool of filth, immobile, incapacitated and indecisive.

It always amazes me how people manage to fill whole books with words of their won creation, while it takes me hours to fill up a couple of pages. The reason is deeper than lack of talent or vocabulary. Vocabulary is a Thesaurus away and talent never did much for anyone anyway. I guess it has more to do with thoughts and experiences that feed these thoughts. Experiences are the key. D.H. Lawrence locked up in a cell since the time he was born couldn’t have written Rainbow. Imagination is fertile, but the seeds need to be sown and the shit has to be thrown in.