Recently, I have been having this urge to write. Form paragraphs consisting of sentences created by words relying on letters. But before you’re able to get this far, you need an idea. Just one idea. Very simple. Illegally simple.

Problem being, I don’t know what to write about it. I am stricken with the lack of an idea. There is just so much of not having enough. Where to begin when you can’t find any of it?

Thoughts end before they begin, just as memories are forgotten before they’re made.

I do not believe things happen for a reason. I do, however, believe in making the most of opportunities.

There is a difference between now and then, but it all depends on when.

I cannot force myself to write; it needs to flow naturally. There are times I will sit and do absolutely nothing, and then the entire piece will form in my mind and I try to write it all down quickly before forgetting. Other times, I just have a sentence find me and I follow it, to see where it leads.

Other times, I have nothing. Like now. A jumble of ideas, fragments, and combinations. All of them shout at me, “listen!” But when I do, nothing is heard. None of them tell me a story; they just want the attention to be acknowledged. That they exist. My thoughts want to be known. But it ends about there.

But do they exist, do they really? I mean, what if they’re just the leftovers from a large brain dinner where all the best pieces were used and these were just the discarded ones? Aren’t they part of something else then and should not be counted into the rest? An important note to consider.

There has been about a four month gap between this sentence and the last, but on your computer screen, it is only about 12 pixels high. Everything is relative. Let’s not even consider which sectors the bits of this are now occupying in relation to where they were earlier.

In an adjacent sticky note, because that is what I use when typing these, not a document, there is a short poem followed by 5 short sentences ending in one short question. This question does not have a question mark at its end.

When I catch myself thinking, I let it go. When I let it go, I think I need to catch myself. Then I stand on a precipice with a recipe. I am a walking contradiction when I swim. This confuses me with clarity.

Double negatives are not unwanted, they are simply not unwelcome. Wrap your head around that, but avoid the shrink. Careful consideration must be immediately denied to the true weight of any one thing.

The past is a place that exists and is very tangible. To me, it comes in the form of written text from ages ago. Words written in another lifetime are my wormhole away from my current reality.

Synapse is a very sexy, sexy word, and I feel it should be used more often. Even if this includes changing the meaning to justify its use.

This had started as a coherent discourse with myself but has now alienated to unrelated non-sequitors. But the words written above are evidence of ideas that do, in fact, exist. The words themselves are not the idea, they are a representation. The idea cannot be quantified and held in one’s hands. But it can be represented. Much the same way that when you hold a bill of currency, and read the fine print on most, you will see that it is only but a note, representing the value of what it entails. This makes a three dollar bill just as legitimate as a five dollar bill, with the exception that it is not sanctioned nor created by a ruling authority. Similarly, if you are an individual with a passport, that passport is a representation of your identity. It is not your¬†actual¬†identity. Your actual identity lies with you and in the minds of those that know you. They are the true holders of who you are, but each person only has the privilege of holding onto a very small part of what comprises you.

I am no longer sure of where this is leading and therefore it seems best to stop this train now before it gets to the next station.