Egocentric Chatter
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It's just about 4 AM as I type this. I should be asleep. I have no reason to even be awake. No reason to be writing this. No reason to even create this website. In all honesty, I have no idea why I'm doing it. Just felt like it would be something I could turn to when my psychotic creativity strikes. I generally turn to--I cringe at the thought of even typing the name--Facebook. I use the Book (my friend's nickname for Facebook) to stay connected with family, friends, peers, and the occasional stranger, but I know that some of the things I write draw unwanted reactions from those that care about me.
Honestly, the Book is what Myspace--another name I cringe at--used to be: an outlet of expression. Sometimes, I just have the urge to say something. At times, my words are directed towards certain people. At other times, I just feel the need to spill out my word vomit. In the end, I think I just enjoy the fact that someone might be reading something I wrote. I hope that their reaction is somewhat good. I dare to shock, to insight, to repulse, to inspire, to evoke, to impress, to make proud... I dare to spread the disease of my words. They might be my words. They might be someone else's that I'm quoting. All I know is that language was created in an effort to communicate. But human beings are greedy. Even if one's eternal goal is to be altruistic, there will always be moments where you honestly care only about yourself and no one else. Is that really a bad thing? Of course, I will ardently argue that we, as human beings, must turn our attention from our greedy little selves to focus on others. Without others...well, you're just an organism consuming oxygen, energy, and sustenance. But sometimes, you need to focus on yourself so that you can get through (not over, under, or around) whatever problem that stands in your way.
I hope that somewhere within my egocentric chatter, my mindless babble, my blah blah blahs, are a few gems. Any writer wants their words read, and any writer prays that those words mean something more than symbols combined to create words, to create sentences, to create paragraphs. The goal of any writer is to somehow discover the way to express the mess that is locked away within their skull, to give true meaning to those little symbols that we call letters. So please, read my words. Realize that this is me splitting my melon open wide so that the world may peer in. Look at the seeds. Look at the goo. Look at the inner workings of a madman. Lunacy is in us all. My mind is a padded cell. Stick around while we wait for the lady in white with the tasty tic-tacs. Bounce against the cushions with me. Enjoy your time here in the ramblings of lunacy.
-Sean-
Honestly, the Book is what Myspace--another name I cringe at--used to be: an outlet of expression. Sometimes, I just have the urge to say something. At times, my words are directed towards certain people. At other times, I just feel the need to spill out my word vomit. In the end, I think I just enjoy the fact that someone might be reading something I wrote. I hope that their reaction is somewhat good. I dare to shock, to insight, to repulse, to inspire, to evoke, to impress, to make proud... I dare to spread the disease of my words. They might be my words. They might be someone else's that I'm quoting. All I know is that language was created in an effort to communicate. But human beings are greedy. Even if one's eternal goal is to be altruistic, there will always be moments where you honestly care only about yourself and no one else. Is that really a bad thing? Of course, I will ardently argue that we, as human beings, must turn our attention from our greedy little selves to focus on others. Without others...well, you're just an organism consuming oxygen, energy, and sustenance. But sometimes, you need to focus on yourself so that you can get through (not over, under, or around) whatever problem that stands in your way.
I hope that somewhere within my egocentric chatter, my mindless babble, my blah blah blahs, are a few gems. Any writer wants their words read, and any writer prays that those words mean something more than symbols combined to create words, to create sentences, to create paragraphs. The goal of any writer is to somehow discover the way to express the mess that is locked away within their skull, to give true meaning to those little symbols that we call letters. So please, read my words. Realize that this is me splitting my melon open wide so that the world may peer in. Look at the seeds. Look at the goo. Look at the inner workings of a madman. Lunacy is in us all. My mind is a padded cell. Stick around while we wait for the lady in white with the tasty tic-tacs. Bounce against the cushions with me. Enjoy your time here in the ramblings of lunacy.
-Sean-