as i write – and i mean every single time i write – i start to question everything i’m saying.
none of it feels true. and also, all of it does. but it’s like i can’t quite get to the really true thing.
then it occurs to me that i honestly don’t know how i feel, or what i really think about the thing i thought i’d like to write about.
i just don’t know what the hell i’m trying to say at all.
the complexity of OH JUST EVERYTHING begins to scream in my face.
there’s this contradiction here, and that one over there. and how can i say this, without explaining that and that and that? how can i say anything at all, without explaining everything?
nothing makes sense. i don’t even remember why i started writing in the first place. scrap the whole damn thing.
why did i think it would be good idea to to fucking go ahead and share my writing with other people!?
like the world needs more words!? more noise!? more self-indulgent, narcissistic nonsense!?
and i can go down these roads for quite some time.
i’m trying to just say ‘fuck it’ and post the stupid thing anyway.