.my.empty.pool.
4.14.2023
Why Kant I Be Free
I’m thinking to myself, but not as mere thought. It’s more like I’m imagining my thoughts being written onto the paper, just like I’m doing now, except the pen and the paper are internal and they are usually aborted before they make it this far out into the external world (generally due to overpopulation). It’s a way for me to trick myself a little bit. A way to circumvent my ghosts. They are omnipotent, omnipresent, and they tell me things I cannot bear to tell myself. The problem is, the act of thinking in written words feels very insufficient. I’m editing and manipulating the words as they flow out of my consciousness, just as I am while writing them down here now. I try not to afford them too much attention as each sliver of thought glides one-by-one down the parallel pathways along the almighty cerebellum. The pen and paper that I’m imagining in my mind are still serving the same purpose as my ghosts - always there to guide me when I think a thought into existence. The feeling is the same, it’s just the representation of the feeling that changes. Maybe this is why I’ve always written so compulsively and so often. The watchful gaze of the watchers. The haunting of my unwritten ghosts. I’m always tricking myself into believing I am free, until I spill these things out into existence.